Leaving Marks
by stormsandsins
Summary: Touch of fire, touch of ice. A wary convergence to a steadier rapprochement through the years.
1. First Taste of Discovery

**CHAPTER ONE :: FIRST TASTE OF DISCOVERY**

The first jolt shocked Claire so much she gasped and tripped over her own feet, attracting… well… no attention, but the moment was embarrassing enough to her on its own. It was her first day and, though she'd so far managed to remain relatively out of trouble's radar, it seemed to have decided to target her just as every student, it seemed, poured out of the front doors to launch themselves at the waiting buses beyond. Picture the blonde geek in glasses with her butt in the air and voilà, that was Claire Frost, who wanted nothing more than to melt into the floor. Pity her powers only froze.

_Congratulations_. _As if you didn't already feel like an incompetent idiot already_, she thought to herself wryly as she was rammed into a few times by eager students while attempting to straighten herself without making an even bigger "frosh fool" of herself.

Scrambling to her feet and blushing to the roots of her hair, Claire ducked her head and waded her way out without further embarrassing herself. Once safely seated in the bus, she promptly decided to forget the weird sensation that had started it all. She'd been spacing out after a nerve-wracking day of power placement in the gym, that was all. Being successfully placed in the hero class had been a small achievement, but the hours before that? Not so fun.

Anyway, that whole tripping thing had probably been a muscle twitch of her finger or something. Nothing to worry about.

#

The second time, it was in the chow line. Claire had been carefully ladling noodle soup into her little plastic bowl when someone stormed past her and made her lose her handle on the utensil. As she yelped, soup splashed up as if in slow motion and nearly made it onto her clean white shirt before it suddenly froze mid-plunge in front of her clenched shut eyes. Then she heard it clattering to the floor into a million pieces of shattered ice.

Phew. Organic dye job avoided.

Yet when she whirled, absently stroking her arm where she'd felt blistering heat, no one said sorry.

"You okay?" her new friend Perry asked her as he eyed the glinting mess.

"Fine." That was twice in as many weeks. Claire blinked down at the little red mark on her arm. She was definitely losing her mind.

#

A month later, Claire sat next to her small group of friends on the bleachers as usual, watching the action down in the tricked-out gym for the regulatory Save the Citizen class.

A wicked contraption that looked like what they might use for a theatre version of _Jaws_ sat in the middle of the room, a symbol for "yickes better not fuck up". Just above it, a lifesized doll that was lowered every few seconds cried out an annoyingly robotic litany: "help… me… help… me…"

In the minimalist and wildly uncharacteristic recreation of Maxville, two teams of "superheroes" and "villains" fought for the prestige of beating the other team at all costs using some of the most super-agressive means Claire had seen in her life outside of the television. Actually, she even caught herself wishing she wouldn't have to fight down there in the next four years. Then berated herself. _You're a heroine, Frost. Grow some proverbial balls._

The game fascinated her, actually, although she winced everytime a doll was mangled and she imagined it was a real citizen. Inwardly her gut knotted. Would she be up to the test? Hah, she was always so easily spooked that she doubted anyone would want her on their team.

Heck, she froze everything when it was mostly definitely _not_ needed. Like her bed. Or her cereal, of all things. The former when her mother had yelled that she'd missed her alarm this morning; the latter when she'd calmly thought she had five minutes to spare but the bus had shown up early. The cereal bowl was likely still melting on the kitchen table.

"That's why you're going to Sky High, honey," her mother, who literally blew villains away for a double living, had told her the night before her first day when Claire had frozen the plumbing. "You'll learn how to control your power." Then, with a wink, she'd added, "For now, we'll just keep the antifreeze solution at the ready."

Yeah, control was elusive at the moment it seemed, because she accumulated blunder after blunder and made a crowning idiot of herself. Well, that was why she was here at Sky High, wasn't it?

On the Maxville-like floor below, a fellow freshman lit up like a human torch and… was thrown facefirst into the plexiglass by a snickering villain.

Tough lu– Oh, _shit_.

#

"Mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is taken."

Claire vaguely recognised the boy – the freshman who'd earned himself the nickname Hothead by Coach Boomer when he'd attacked the junior who'd apparently smartmouthed him in Save the Citizen. He was also in some of her classes but he kept largely to himself and sulked quietly so that no one dared approach the infamous Barron Battle's son. Claire never remembered his name. Something ironic.

As she awaited his response which was long in coming, he raised his head from the book he was reading and eyed her only summarily before raking the rest of the reading tables in the library to no doubt assert that they were indeed all taken. The midterms were coming and it seemed the student body had only just found the "room with the books". Then he shrugged as though, whatever she chose to do, he couldn't care less. "Suit yourself." A man of few words, Claire mused.

Claire unshouldered her bookbag and sat next to him with a little weary sigh. There was anti-social, and then there was _anti-social_. Pulling out her old beat-up copy of _American Gods_, Claire settled herself comfortably to read in companionable silence with the least likely companion.

#

It was a whole month before she felt it zing through her again. She'd honestly just begun to charter it down to the stress of beginning at a new school, and had promptly forgotten all about it since. This time, though, it caught her unawares and something flew into the air once more. Well, at least it didn't aim at h–

"Here's your glass." Peace, as Claire had come to know him as from listening to teachers calling out his name in class, not always kindly, handed her her unharmed glass and she automatically reached for it, but it had by then completely fled her mind as he touched her because _this_ was a revelation. Twice in a row. By the person who'd bumped into her. _This_ got her closer to explaining these strange occurrences.

"Thanks," she offered with a brilliant smile, but already he was gone. No matter; inside she reeled. And so she ran after the cause, her glass forgotten on her tray. "Wait. Peace!" she called before catching up to him, which wasn't an easy feat actually. she'd have given her left foot to know what he was fed to get so tall.

Her musings were interrupted abruptly when he barely glanced at her and growled out, "I wait for no one, so you talk or you walk. Either way, I don't care."

Her momentary rush of courage smashed by that offhand rebuttal, she stopped right where she was and watched his dark head walk away in the direction of the front doors. How could anyone be so cold?

#

Boldness is interesting in that it can be brought about by sheer willpower or by compulsion. One needs a good talking to to get your feet moving; the other is just driven by need. In Claire's case, need won out: she _needed_ to experiment and to know with finality that she was on the verge of discovering something very scientifically interesting indeed.

_Have a taste of your own medicine, Hothead._

Of course, she'd seen Peace power up several times since she'd seen him walking into the freshmen's bus, and wondered just how basically different they were on a biological level. Now was the time to explore their polar potentials.

Concentrating on her shaky and vastly unpredictable powers, Claire inhaled deeply. Through her body temperature ran ten degrees or so colder than normal, to properly freeze an object she needed it to reach a much lower degree than usual. As the first trickle ran through her arteries outward to her hand, she grinned triumphantly. _Works!_

And then she walked by Peace who rummaged inside his locker. And brushed her powered hand on the back of his neck, thinking how absolutely anti-climactic this all was.

Peace jerked, banged his head on the metal door of his locker, and let out a vicious curse. By the time he emerged, glaring and rubbing his sore head, she'd rounded the corner.

Mission accomplished.


	2. A Study into Psychological Bias

**Author's note**: You know, I'm supposed to finish writing another fic before I touch anything else. That's what I promised, anyway, but it looks like Claire's story wants out and so who am I to deny her that pleasure?

You'll find I took the liberty of exploring and developing the academic side of Sky High a little bit more here. Enjoy :)

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO: A STUDY INTO PSYCHOLOGICAL BIAS**

"I'm not stupid, you know."

Claire glanced up from retrieving her English for Heroes textbook from her bag at the male whisper, barely covering a yawn in time. "Mm?"

"What you did back there." When Claire merely looked on blearily, Peace rolled his eyes and got all up in her face. "You think you've got me figured out because we're polar opposites?" he growled.

Blinking at the blurry shape in front of her eyes, Claire slid on her glasses and raised an eyebrow, scoffing. "Not at all. My interest is strictly scientific. I don't think I could deal with the emotional baggage," she replied before thinking, then realised her mistake. Bringing up his father, even in a roundabout way, was like welcoming the toasty smell of ouch. Mortified, Claire stuttered through a half-assed apology. "Er, that is – what I meant was–"

But Peace's own eyebrow quirked and, though he didn't smile or generally offer a sign of tolerance beyond, well, watching her instead of roasting her, she knew she'd just had a lucky draw. Time to breathe. A little white puff came out of her mouth.

"It's good," was all he said before walking off to his desk without sparing her another glance.

#

"Are you sure you're all right?" Claire asked a wincing Perry, her friend as well as her lab partner, as Nurse Spex thoroughly examined his leg.

"Do you really think he is?" the older woman huffed, then snapped her fingers as something seemed to suddenly occur to her. "Of course you do! You haven't seen his x-ray! Suffice to say, he's got enough broken limbs to take me the rest of the day. Now shoo," she added as an afterthought before rolling up her white smock sleeves and taking a deep breath in preparation for the work ahead.

Claire grimaced sympathetically at her red-faced friend's frightened expression. Time to go.

As coincidence would have it, Claire's – and Perry's – next class was Mad Science. And Perry's partner in the previous session of Save the Citizen had been Sam, a chameleon who usually paired up with Peace and who was currently stretched out next to Perry, spewing his guts out. It was safe to say he'd also be under observation for the next couple of hours.

This left Claire and Peace in a bit of a predicament for class. Or rather, this forced them to pair up instead.

A scream rent the air.

Strange, but she thought she should feel that way about teaming up with the infamous Hothead.

#

As she'd predicted, a little while later she was paired off with the pyro and then class promptly resumed as usual. Sitting at his table and carefully setting her bookbag down next to his, Claire quickly took out her things and jotted down their assignment for this class while Professor Medulla ranted on about the chips' fragility and _do not scratch them!_

Homing beacon. Half an hour.

Claire turned to Hothead, fully expecting an indolent attitude that would dare her to ask him for help. Instead, he merely picked up some spare electronic parts, flipped to a page in their manual to check something or other, and then reached for a small screwdriver. All without even asking for directions.

Okay. This she could definitely deal with, Claire thought happily. She could even tune everything else out while working and tell herself she'd been an idiot to doubt him. He _did_ have good grades, apparently, but she'd charted it to studious Sam doing all the grind work for both of them. Decidedly, _not_.

They'd been working in, if not contented or comfortable, then simply busy silence for some time when they both reached for the screwdriver at the same time, too concentrated to focus on anything else. For only a second, their fingers brushed.

_Warm_. As Claire jerked her hand away, a jet of frost shot out of her fingers and immobilised the instrument exactly where it lay like an ice sculpture that Medulla definitely wouldn't like sitting in the middle of a lab table.

"Nice," Peace observed dryly. Glancing up at Professor Medulla's oversized head bent over another table, he surreptitiously aimed at the frozen screwdriver, melting it from its confines. Except… he also melted the tip.

"Nice," Claire observed in the same dry tone, smirking. "You shouldn't have done that," she added under her breath. Everyone knew powers shouldn't be used in the lab unless otherwise indicated. This situation definitely did _not_ apply. Although, thankfully, no one had witnessed the incident. "You could get into trouble."

Nonchalant, Peace shrugged as she stood up to furtively "sharpen her pen" and slip a new screwdriver in her pocket. "Why do you care, Princess?" he asked as she passed him the new instrument. He set to work screwing a chip into the arrangement he'd already completed.

"I don't," she shot back indignantly, glaring at the red streak in his hair. Frankly, his surliness was starting to grate on her. One second he was quiet if not friendly; the next he growled like she'd stepped out of some invisible bounds only he could see. "Strictly scientific, remember? I just don't want to be left all alone to finish this while you're off to Principal Powers' to explain your little slip-up."

"Whatever." He handed her the screwdriver more forcefully than was really needed, steam slamming into her. As he did, Claire sent an icy warning up her hand to counter his steaming touch. He retreated with a glare and, for a moment, she pictured herself clocking him with the instrument. She just barely held herself in check. Barely.

Before she could reconsider her choice – maybe humanity needed a saviour from Blazing Balls over there – Professor Medulla stepped in front of her. "And what have we here? Ah, yes, this is quite an unorthodox way of working, but I believe you're on the right track. Good teamwork, you two…"

Heck, that was Blazing's only saving grace. Because she needed this mark to up her final grade. Much as Perry was a fantastic friend, he was a lost cause in Mad Science.

Peace glanced covertly at her as Medulla retreated. Claire grimaced back. _Take that, asshole._

#

That night, Claire was given the task of helping her mother wash the undishwasherables. As a measure of safety for the poor pipes, Claire had been relegated to drying duties, although she prided herself in the fact that the antifreeze solution had been needed less and less lately. Small victories. "Mom?" Claire suddenly asked, curiosity taking over caution. "How much do you know about Barron Battle?" She'd been wondering all day since class.

"Barron Battle," her mother repeated under her breath, biting her lip thoughtfully. She turned to her daughter, suspicion evident in her clear eyes. "Is this for an assignment?"

"Um. Yeah," Claire lied, wondering why it mattered. Any other superhero and she'd have gotten an answer straight away. Why was he different?

Her mother raised a dubious eyebrow. _Busted_, Claire thought in dismay. "Isn't his son your age?" Without even waiting for an answer, however, Fiona Frost looked back at her hands that slowly washed away the suds from another stainless steel pot, and launched into her story:

"Barron was a year before me at school so I don't know much beyond the things I saw in the hallways or the caf. No one could have predicted he'd end up where he is now, though, that's for sure. He was a good guy, maybe a little opiniated and temperamental, but he was fantastic at Save the Citizen and he rocked the stage his last year when he took the lead in the school play. Then he graduated and married his high school sweetheart before that whole fiasco with the senators landed him in jail for life. That's all I know."

Claire's mother shook her head regretfully, handing Claire the pot to dry with a curious frown. "What he did tore Daria's heart, but I can't even imagine what his son's been through since… Have you talked to him?"

_The million dollar question_, Claire thought with a mental snort. "Oh yeah, he's such a heart-warming ball of joy. I can't stand the saccharine sweetness."

Yet something in her mother's expression as she'd been talking about Flame-Thrower… Practically every super child was chastised and told very early on not to fight petty fights if they didn't want to turn into the infamous Barron Battle. Claire had heard the warning from other children's parents because… "You don't think he deserves it," she stated more than asked, suddenly understanding a whole lifetime of standard remonstrances.

Her mother shut the tap and for a moment stared out into their snow-covered backyard for inspiration for words that would no doubt make Claire question the very idea she'd had of the villain who'd killed and destroyed so much in so little time. Then Fiona's piercing gaze shot to her, assessing Claire's face for… she didn't know what. It felt almost like a test: _are you old enough to hear this?_ Yes, she thought fiercely.

It seemed she passed the test, because her mother wet her lips and began, in a strained voice, "Don't get me wrong, Claire. What he did was unforgiveable. Taking a life is never right, even in a defensive situation. It sticks with you, one after the other, reminding you that life is nothing but a thin line that can snap too easily."

As she paused, brushing a strand of Claire's hair away from her face lovingly, Claire's insides twisted and she stiffened, knowing without a doubt that her mother, the woman she'd looked up to all her life, had killed. But what surprised her the most wasn't the admission, but the quiet acceptance in her gut. Because she'd killed, she was still alive.

"Sometimes," her mother continued, sighing, "our beliefs take us one step closer to that fine line between right and wrong. It's right for us, but if society disagrees, then we're made into pariahs or worse. I can't pretend to know what went through Barron's head when he did these things, but you have to know that those senators were trying to crack down on us "freaks" and rouse the people against us. And no one was doing anything to stop it." A furrow appeared on her forehead, and Claire saw the shadow of weariness forming in her eyes. Fiona Frost sighed imperceptibly. "Tough times…"

"So you think he tried to…" Claire started, trailing off when she wasn't quite sure what she was trying to say.

At that moment, her mother's "other" cellphone went off, quite ironically. "Job's calling. I'll see you later, honey." Claire nodded distractedly after her as she left to assume her super identity of Mystral, wielder of wind.

When she was alone, Claire resumed her drying duty and let her mind wander freely into what her mother had started to lay out in the open. Anarchy… The great and feared Flame-Thrower may have simply been fighting anarchy, only for his morals to lead him in dangerous territory.

And Warren Peace lived in that shadow everyday of his life. Claire had to admire his strength of character and tenacity against your run-of-the-mill idiots at school. Not that he had much choice in the matter. It was Sky High or… Sky High, unless he moved away which, when she thought about it, would truly be a loss.

Wow, there was something you didn't think of everyday.

#

Psychology for Protectors, page 254:

"Has your power ever caused you fear? If so, how did you overcome it?"

"What a loaded question," Perry scoffed around a bite of his sandwich, swallowing hard. "I mean, hello, invisible boy here. I was scared of peeing for about half a month before I realised it was controllable."

Claire choked on her apple juice at the visual, then made the judicious decision to push the bottle aside. Way too similar. "Ugh, Perry, too much information."

"You asked," her friend shrugged dismissively with a boyish grin, leaning forward on his thin elbows.

"_You_ write it down and see where it lands you," Claire shot back curtly even as she twirled her pen in the air. Inspiration had yet to strike. A fear related to her power… She supposed writing about being afraid to freeze the showerhead would be acceptable – talk about ice shrapnel. But… she felt it wasn't enough.

"Mm, there's that," Perry retorted on a mourning sigh, resuming a drumming rhythm on the table that was only somewhat annoying after nearly four months of hanging out with larger-than-life Perry Kennan. Less than a minute later his fingers stopped moving, presumably after another thought hit him. "Well," he began again in that devious tone of his that promised more silliness, "there's the fact that I have to be starkers to be _completely_ invis–"

"Argh," Claire cried, slamming her head on the caf table in despair. "_Boys!_"

"Hey, you'd be afraid too if you sister barged in and almost caught you–"

Batting her hands wildly – frost flew – Claire fought to keep a straight face. "Whatever it is," she said with great fervour, "I don't want to hear about it. Can you do homework without thinking about sex?"

Perry's dramatic gasp was really off with his wicked grin. "I wasn't thinking about sex, I was talking about naked body parts," he pointed out matter-of-factly. "You know, the stuff we learn in Biology?"

Claire cocked her head and aimed a perfectly skeptical look at him, shaking her head. He was hopeless. "You make it sound so mature."

"It is! I am!" he cried in a theatrical mock-hurt tone, his voice cracking, she thought, deliberately. "You don't know how terrifying it is to find yourself butt-naked and the world can't see."

Well, she couldn't help it anymore. Bursting out in violent giggles, Claire had trouble breathing for a moment. "Oh my God," she hiccuped between wheezes, and tried for stern but failed royally. "Shut up, seriously."

"At least I'm answering the damn question. There." And turning to his paper, he mouthed his answer, "I… am… terrif–"

As Claire's peals of laughter intensified in volume, she was suddenly aware of people around them looking, most probably thinking something along the lines of "she's crazy". They'd be half-right if they knew half the things he said on a daily basis.

"Sorry," she managed to hiccup between a pant or two. "Just eating." And to prove her statement she speared a rock-hard piece of corned beef into her mouth, the task of chewing made even harder by the sniffing and snorting. But at least it got them off her back.

Perry pursed his lips at her as though she'd hurt his feelings immeasurably. "Will you stop your circus? You're embarrassing me."

Which only got the ball rolling again. Perfect prim and proper Gwen Grayson impression. Biting her lip to keep her guffaws to herself, Claire glanced covertly at the table occupied by Gwen and her clique, her shoulders still shaking. Gosh, to think that the junior had said that to her friend Penny only yesterday at her locker…

Except then she caught sight of Warren Peace's hunched-over form two tables over. He sat all by himself, taking notes and completely oblivious to the cafeteria and its riot around him. Didn't hurt to start studying early, Claire thought, making a mental note to start highlighting that night. After all, Christmas finals were fast approaching and she hadn't yet started on anything yet – bad student. The indistinct din was actually nice to work in or read as there wasn't any specific conversation that took the focus away from your work, which was why she often gave the final touches to her homework in the caf herself.

Every once in a while Peace raked a hand through his hair as though he was so bone-tired he couldn't concentrate. She found herself wondering why that was.

Funny, but she still couldn't reconcile the smart Peace with the spiteful Peace. Not that one couldn't work with the other, of course, but it was still such a strange picture. And yet as she watched him, there seemed to be a calmness about him under that hot-tempered resentment as though he were… at peace when he was buried in his head.

The waning smile on her face suddenly felt sour.

_You don't think he deserves it_.

Claire tore her eyes away, confusion making her uneasy. With nowhere else to look without feeling like she'd been caught red-eyed, she stared down at her last Psych question.

_My fear_, she wrote, inspiration finally striking, _is that one day I may have to or want to kill with my power. What is wrong when what one believes in is right for them? I am afraid of making the wrong choice socially._

She paused, hesitating to write more. It _was _a common concern, but… somehow she didn't think the Commander or even her mother experienced this type of crippling fear. No, they just pushed on right ahead. Did that mean she was a coward? No, Claire decided, she _wasn't_. There might be moments when she was easy to scare and things went freezy for a couple of minutes or hours, but she _wasn't_ a coward. Just because she panicked at the thought that one day someone would choose her as their partner in Save the Citizen, didn't mean she couldn't do it. There were first times for everything.

_I do not think I will ever overcome that fear. Everyday is too full of choices that, though they do not terrify me much yet, most probably will when I come to a point in my life when I have to juggle a public and private life. Heroes _never_ deceive, and that is what scares me. _I_ could._

"So what did you write?" Perry asked eagerly, trying to read her response upside-down. He'd only written two sentences himself.

Claire slapped her Psychology for Protectors binder closed. "None of your business."

Her response startled even her. She'd sounded remarkably like Peace.

#

"How much d'you get?" Perry asked, peering over Claire's shoulder to peek at her mark, backpack hanging off his shoulder. Technically they didn't have to wait for each other since Thursday afternoons were dedicated to their focus groups with sophomores, but it was a habit that had become hard to break. She and Perry had practically every class together, and besides, life with Perry around was never dull.

Focus groups were aimed at honing the individual skills of the students with others with similar powers. The groups were small, but effective, and Claire had slowly become more confident with her power knowing that she wasn't alone dealing with difficulties.

Imagine having a room crawling with snakes on your fifteenth birthday party and you had Ben Seether. Or a front lawn full of sand statues and you had Angela Michelo.

"_Nine _point five?" Perry cried out indignantly, jolting her out of her thoughts. He'd surreptitiously turned her leaf over while she quickly stashed her things back into her bookbag. "Bah, and you didn't even write a lot."

Claire straightened and clapped his back indulgently. "Some of us don't need to write pages and pages to get to the point. At least, not always." Because she usually had the horrible habit of writing a novel just in case. "Shall we?"

Perry grumbled all the way to his Physical Transformation Focus classroom. No doubt he'd take his frustrations out on her later by dissolving out of sight just to irritate her. He knew she hated talking to walls. Claire sighed, leaving him to his dark thoughts to walk into her own Focus classroom: Substantial Creation.

#

"Hey." Claire tapped her Focus partner Paul Calder on the shoulder to get his attention. "Missed me?"

Lifting bleary, red-rimmed eyes, Paul acknowledged her with a grunt.

Claire put her things next to his and slid down the wall to the floor, waiting for their supervisor to walk in. Usually she and Paul would start with their usual warm-ups – he letting his waterworks flow and she freezing it all up – but Paul had recently been working double time with the finals coming up, dealing with a part-time job and keeping house and babysitting while his mother was out of the country for business and his father was on call with the world.

"How are you holding up?"

"Can't sleep."

"Ouch," she replied with a sympathetic grimace.

"Tell me about it. And Alice had an accident in bed last night."

Alice being his little sister.

"When's your mom back?" Because at the present rate, with his father Proteus gone so often to help his hero teammate, Candesce, Paul would be insane by next week. Not to mention, he couldn't afford to fail his finals in a month – he was already walking a very thin academic line.

"Tomorrow, thank God," was his relieved mutter into his cradling arm, nose crushed into it.

Claire let him have his little five minute nap, content to merely people-watch as everyone else either made idle conversation, studied or practised by themselves or with their semi-assigned partner, so-called because they all randomly worked with others so they wouldn't get used to their partner's power. The logic made sense to Claire; a little diversity never hurt and in fact helped them understand their powers more fully against different ones. Anyway, just because Paul's power "assisted" Claire's more completely than Angela's sand statues, didn't mean he shouldn't work with, say, Evelyn Darrell against whose super-breath he could test his power's potential antithetic kinetic energy. Just how strong were his currents?

Paul could create rivers if he so chose, or maybe even more, but Claire didn't know exactly how far Paul could go. She doubted he did, too, although maybe as a freshman he'd tested himself last year. Either way, he and Claire had only worked with small- to medium-sized streams together to help determine just how much control she had over bodies of water, which definitely helped _her_ but didn't truly test _his_ powers.

As it was, though, Evelyn currently worked more closely with Warren Peace in the fireproof chamber at the other end of the empty classroom. There were no desks or chairs to speak of, here. Simply enough room to go power-wild in.

Claire eyed Ben Seether playing with his snakes a few feet away. He'd better keep his pets under control this time, she thought with just a little bitterness.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw movement, and then heard the telltale hiss of burning flesh before the smell even reached her nostrils.

"Don't make them if you can't keep count, Creeper," Hothead grunted to a speechless, gaping Seether.

Claire snickered under her breath. Well, Peace _was_ right.

Their supervisor chose that frozen tableau to walk in. "Peace, please clean your mess. Seether, he's right; please poof your snakes."

Seether nodded wryly as his snakes diffused out of sigh, adding under his breath, "Killjoy."

"Ah," Tandy shrugged, unaffected by the comment, "comes with the job." Then she turned to the rest of the class, crossing her arms over her chest. "Okay, today I thought we could do with a little more intense work and then pair you up with other people. The Substantial Manipulation group will drop in for that portion, which should be fun, I think. I know the finals are coming up and you're all dead beat" – she threw an oblique glance at Paul, who straightened slightly – "but after that it's the summer hols and we wouldn't want you to run amock without being able to properly master your powers, now would we?" She clapped her hands once, sharply. "All right, everyone up. Let's make you busy."

#

"Okay, this is really cool," Paul announced a half hour later.

Claire stood back, admiring her work. The water that had been gushing out of Paul's hand had frozen completely right up to his hand, effectively creating a mini-slide that she would actually pay to see in lifesized format.

"But I'm getting cold," he added, staring at his immobilised hand pointedly.

"Uh…" Well, she hadn't thought about that. Spying around for something hard enough to smash against her ice sculpture, she suddenly found Warren exiting the fireproof chamber after Evelyn, raking his hand through his thoroughly windblown hair. As if he could feel himself being watched, his gaze landed first on Paul, then on her. She froze and averted her eyes, trying to think fast. No, she _didn't_ need Hothead, anything but having to go up to him to ask for help. If anything, he'd just shoot her down anyway. Quick, what else could either smash ice or melt it?

Pencil? Ruler? Ha, no. Scissors? Mm, sure. Did she have scissors in her pencil kit? Crap, no.

"Anytime, Claire." Paul.

"Thinking, thinking."

"Well you've got a fireball staring a hole at you in the corner. If I were you I'd ask him before I get frostbite and sue your butt."

Absently she dismissed his threat with a wave. "Pfft, you wouldn't." For all his sullen moodiness, driven worse by his recent lack of sleep, she was pretty sure he didn't actually mind her on any normal day.

"Still waiting."

Oh, did she really have a choice? Claire inwardly cringed. "Argh, fine." And so she marched over to Hothead who watched her approach like an eagle tracking prey. At least, she _felt_ like prey heading into the den of a lion, docile or otherwise. Claire had read in Psychology that braveness was actually a quality of spirit that enabled one to face danger or pain without _showing_ fear – emphasis Claire's – but fear was never very far and was only healthy. _Good thing you're healthy._

"I love being the last resort," he observed darkly before she'd even reached him.

"Um…" That was exactly the kind of response she'd been dreading. Sure, he was okay beneath that hostile veneer, but it didn't mean he wasn't rough on the verbal. Claire breathed in deeply, steeling herself for his refusal. "Will you come melt Paul's hand? I think the ice is too thick to hack at anyway. Please."

Warren gave a small snort, but pushed from the wall and maneuvered his way between the other groups, a dark presence in their midst. She watched his shoulders bunch as he brushed by a few students, his gait almost agressive as he did. Those in his way simply melted out of the way, out of fear or contempt, or a mixture of both.

He powered up halfway over to Paul, hands glowing like two red-hot coals. Paul's eyes actually widened a fraction at the sight though he nevertheless didn't say a word and watched silently as Peace melted the ice around his hand. Hothead worked quickly, his heat sputtering to flame only once – and he jerked away cursing viciously, careful not to let anything touch Paul.

"Thanks," Claire said quietly when he was done, the rest of her ice slide left to melt on the floor. She looked at it, not knowing what else to say. _I love being the last resort_, he'd said. He wasn't. She'd immediately thought of him. She'd just been worried he'd… flat-out refuse. That he'd agreed, even begrudgingly and when it seemed she hated to ask, was such a pleasant… not surprise – perhaps he gave off an unfriendly vibe, but underneath it all she felt there was so much that no one ever took the time to coax out of him. Not surprise – he already had it in him, Claire felt.

"Yeah… thanks," Paul added awkwardly.

Peace's dark eyes pegged them both for a moment, staying until the last moment on her. "Whatever." He walked off back to his corner, his partner gone to hang out with Seether and Franz Moltovsson. As nearly always, Warren Peace was alone.

Jesus, that depressed her.

#

Turned out Paul had quite the waterworks and could hold his own against others quite efficiently. A week from the finals, he won in Save the Citizen.

Turned out he was also the sarcastic type.

Her turn at not even saving, but keeping Paul and his friend Reid Lich _away _from a plastic life came the next afternoon. Even though the year was just about over, it still felt far too soon to test her power in "situation" for Claire. But even more sarcastic of Paul: he paired her off with Warren Peace.

Paul knew she hadn't played Save the Citizen this year yet. He was only trying to get her to participate in the game. She understood his concern: if she didn't play at all this year, Coach Boomer would mark her down. And he'd thought well: ice froze water, fire burned glue. She and Hothead stood a slim chance against Paul and Reid's experience – especially as Peace had played several times through the year.

And in some weird, twisted meanly way, maybe Paul was even thanking Peace for that thing in Focus? Or maybe she was trying too hard to think like boys.

Claire patted herself down nervously, making sure the safety equipment fit her well enough to allow movement. This done, she expertly twisted her hair into a ponytail, watching out of the corner of her eye as Warren did the same, his red streak standing out starkly against the black of his hair.

_Okay. I can do this_, she thought before wetting her lips and stepping into the gym, mouthing "I hate you" to Paul. Who grinned in anticipation.

#

Heart drumming a wild tattoo in her chest, Claire looked up into the bleachers and where Coach Boomer marked something on his clipboard. _Tsk tsk, girl's never played before_, she wagered he was currently thinking. _Wimp. Well, guess I can't _totally_ flunk her but–_

"Frost," Warren whispered beside her.

Claire's head whipped to him, fear making her shake and sweat in her shoes. She stood no chance. _Why me? I'll humiliate us both. I'll–_

Peace took a deep breath, his pointed stare encouraging her to imitate him. Claire did, holding the oxygen in until her head cleared of anything but what she had to do.

It was just a game.

"Peace, Frost," the coach's voice thundered through the gym, "you have three minutes to keep your heroes from saving the citizen. At your mark. Three… two… one… _Begin!_"

For a moment that seemed to last an eternity, the four of them seemed to still, waiting for someone to make the first move. When Reid did, she and Peace both reacted at the same time, throwing their hands out. Ice and fire collided an inch from Lich's face, neutralising each other and steaming to nothingness right before his wide eyes.

An instant later, a powerful jet of water hit Peace in the face just as Lich tried to get away. Claire tried to aim at the latter, her ice only melting glue when he used his power as a veil in defense. Then he climbed up a "lamppost", adhesive matter trailing after him in the manner of snails. There, he grinned down at her.

"Come and get me if you can," he nagged in a honeyed tone.

"Ha ha." How funny he was. As if she could climb up there before the end of the… minute and twenty seconds. "Crap!"

Peace was having problems of his own on his side of things. Paul wasn't holding back at all, making Peace swallow water by the buckets so he couldn't even power up to resist.

Assessing the entire situation – Peace, Paul and Reid – Claire came to a quick gut-feeling decision. She aimed at Paul's barrage of water.

"What the–" Reid began as he saw her powering up. "Oh sh–" Frantic, he jumped, exactly as she'd thought he would. The lamppost stood close enough to the cable holding the plastic doll that he could reach it if–

Claire whipped her head as time slowed down, praying…

Peace erupted out of the ice so fast she might have wondered whether it was even thick enough if she didn't know it actually was, blinked at her, then flamed up, throwing a fireball at the cable Reid was just reaching–

And missed.

"The citizen's _safe_ with fifteen seconds to spare," Bommer's voice resounded triumphantly, slamming into Claire. "Heroes _win!_"

Warren, face impassive but for that near-perpetual scowl, raked a hand through his straggly wet hair and walked out without a word.

Claire soon followed suit, shame hunching her shoulders and wracking her with shivers. "I'm so sorry," she uttered quietly once she reached his long gait into the equipment room.

He shrugged nonchalantly, calmly even, as he removed his shoulder pads and then moved on to the ones strapped to his chest. "Happens." Although he appeared to refuse to look at her in the eye as he spoke.

Belatedly she realised she should take off her gear, too, and choppily did so. The things felt like a second skin that had never quite grown in.

The next team Paul and Reid had challenged walked in at that lulling moment, talking in raucous tones, and then stopped at sight of Peace. "Yo Peace," one of them began in that tone that promised immature taunting. "You actually held on a bit longer this time. I don't know whether you should thank your girl or your genes but heck, maybe villain's the way you should go after all. Fits ya like a glove."

Uh oh.

"Warren, no!" Claire cried at the last second, throwing her hands out by reflex to ward him off. Unfortunately, her hands did that little freezing thing as well, and suddenly they stood in front of a human ice sculpture.

Cool, actually.

Not cool, though, considering the jerk's friend had seen and run.

"Oh, not good, not good at all," Claire muttered to herself frantically, approaching the frozen ass as though he would bite. As it was, he couldn't bite much less move at all. An inch of ice covered him from head to toe. "Um, Peace…" she started hopefully.

He snorted at once, crossing his arms over his chest. "As if."

"Please?" she added with a little winsome smile.

He seemed unaffected by her sweetness for a moment, but then exhaled a breath he'd seemed to hold in. "Oh, what the hell."

A second later, the jerk was free to run away. Claire watched him go like his ass was on fire, shaking her head and laughing at the irony: hard ass no more after a meeting with ice and fire. She turned to Peace, a satisfied smirk on her lips. He watched her quietly, a corner of his lips turned up a little. Hothead _was_ amused, even if just a tad.

"Thanks," she said with meaning, again. Oh, who cared about losing at a stupid game of Save the Citizen? She and Peace had given a jackass a lesson, and it felt _great_.s


	3. Reflections on Evil and Deviancy

**CHAPTER THREE: REFLECTIONS ON EVIL AND DEVIANCY**

_Almost done_, was Claire's first relieved thought when she came out of her Hero History exam the following week. To be honest, the plan to study as soon as possible in order not to cram at the last minute, borrowed so stealthily from Peace earlier in the year, had worked so well for her the first time around that she'd breezed through the past six examinations – including the one she'd just completed – without so much as an emotional scratch.

"I think I flunked that last question," her friend, Cindy Ashcroft, whispered to her when Claire reached her locker.

Exam number five – and last – was the next day, but there were two hours yet until the buses came to pick them up. Claire meant to get some more reading under her belt before she tackled the last of the practice essay question that Professor Argot had given them in preparation for the exam.

"I couldn't remember," Cindy continued in her anxious tone. "Did Zizanie cause the French Revolution or was she just along for the ride?"

Claire considered the question as she rummaged through her locker for her Post-It-ridden copy of _The Chrysalids_. "It's general consensus that she influenced the French to revolt against monarchy since she was against it in the first place," she began, "but it's pretty much up in the air because they were already getting fed up with the royalty's ignorance of the lower classes."

Claire paused, biting her lip in thought to reimmerse herself in History mode. "It's so difficult to pinpoint whether mental powers are used or not. Considering Zizanie died just after the fall of the Tower, I think it's safe to say they were acting on their own beliefs afterward. But before…?" She pursed her lips. "I wrote that it was never proven whether she influenced the citizens or not. It _was_ quite sudden, but not so much that she should have automatically caused it."

"Crap," was Cindy's heartfelt retort. "I completely failed that one," she mourned on a dramatic sigh as she leaned back on the locker next to Claire's. "I wrote that she influenced them from start to finish."

Claire made a sympathetic sound before returning to her little mess – good thing they had to clear it by the end of the week. "Aha, there you are," she suddenly exclaimed before pulling the small book out from under a little pile on the topmost shelf. She had to go up on her toes to reach it, but after some maneuvering and grunting she was finally able to tug it free, a scarf falling out after it.

"Don't say it," Claire warned, bending to pick the woolie off the floor.

Cindy snorted. "I wouldn't dare," she said with a good measure of sarcasm. "Mine's worse. End of the year," she gave as a flimsy excuse. After a beat she switched subjects. "You want to grab a bite? I haven't had lunch yet."

Claire had, before the History test. A snack wouldn't be unwelcome, though. "Sure." She grabbed her wallet out of her bag. "Let's eat outside?"

#

"Beware your brownie," Cindy suddenly said, jarring Claire out of her book.

Claire looked up, eyeing their surroundings for potential brownie thieves, but came up blank. "What?" The closest students sat chatting a few yards away and didn't seem to have moved at all. Nope, no threat.

Then she saw. Cindy coveted her cookie with unadulterated interest, her bagel sandwich already long gone.

"Hey," Claire cried out, batting her hands wildly. "Mine! No touch. My brownie."

"But you're not even eating it," Cindy replied indignantly, as if the fact was a terrible offense. "And I'm starving."

"I'll get to it. My tastebuds are just starting to anticipate," Claire replied in kind.

But Cindy would have none of it. "Just a tiny piece?" she asked sweetly, hopeful doe eyes and all.

Claire rolled her eyes at her book. "No."

"I'll ash it," her friend replied in a threatening voice, her twitchy fingers inches from Claire's knee where the brownie waited.

"I doubt you'd like eating ashes," Claire retorted flatly. Then a random thought occured to her. She grinned evilly. "Pity you can't just heat it up. Then you'd have a hot, melty brownie."

Her friend moaned, longing clear in her pout. "Oooh, you evil, evil thing. Maybe you could ask Peace?" she asked hopefully. "Since you're friend-like and all."

Friends? Claire scoffed to herself. Since when? The most she and Warren Peace had done was have a civilised… non-conversation, really. And being teamed up last week. It wasn't like they talked all that much. "We're not friends," she said simply.

Cindy shrugged, as if she didn't care much one way or the other. "Or something," she said, turning her face to the sun. "At least he's not all 'fuck off' with you."

Claire stared a long time at her book without seeing the words in front of her. The simple remark stilled her in thought. Was he really not? Or was he ever? Whenever she came within hearing or speaking distance of him… he didn't change his demeanour at all. Broody and anti-social? Yes. But he was all bark and no bite. Unless you had a death wish like that kid who'd provoked him last week.

Who in their right mind would want to play with fire, anyway? That really boggled the mind.

"Wow," Cindy suddenly said to her left, "that page must really have a lot of sex."

"Huh?" Claire snapped out of her thoughts, accidentally dropping her book on the grass in the process.

"You've been staring at the same page for the past five minutes," Cindy said with a light chuckle, closing her eyes again to lie her head back down. "I figure, either you're a really slow reader and you've been pretending in class _or_ there's some really kinky stuff happening between the lines and I totally missed it. So what's got you eye-paralysed?"  
_  
I'm thinking about a boy._ True. Now, wouldn't that just go over well? Claire groaned, flipping to the next page with more force than was truly necessary. "Nothing," she lied. "Couldn't figure something out." Well, at least that was half-true. Peace _was_ a puzzle.

"Liar," Cindy huffed at her. "We're fighting head-to-head for top marks in English. If there's something you don't understand, then I don't either. Also," she added as a not-quite afterthought, cracking an eye open to peg the general area of Claire's knee, "are you really waiting for your brownie to eat itself?"

Claire rolled her eyes at her friend's food antics. "Oh, _fine_, miss Crankypants." Really, Cindy was a single-minded ogre when she didn't eat enough. picking at the plastic wrapping, Claire then stuffed the sugar high in her mouth, chewing the moist richness for a long moment, slowly, to let the sweetness roll on her tongue. And also to annoy Cindy. "Ooh, this is _really_ good, Cin. So hot and melty, too. Mm…"

Cindy merely gave her the death glare through that one open eye. "You suck."

How appropriate. Claire suckled her fingers to get at all the fudge. "You bet," she teased around them.

"You disgust me."

"I aim to please," Claire shot right back with a grin.

A shadow suddenly fell over her book just before Invisible Boy – visible at the moment – plopped himself down on Claire's other side. "You girls have such deep conversations," he commented on a groan, stretching back like Cindy. "Did anybody else think this test was murder?"

There were vague sounds of assent from both girls.

"Don't remind me," Cindy muttered under her breath.

"Who's left in?" Claire asked, stealing a glance at her watch. There were roughly thirty minutes left.

"That superhearing kid and Peace," Perry replied, then added, "Was anyone surprised that Speed and Lash were the first to take off? Almost simultaneously."

"Those two are stuck at the hip," Cindy scoffed with feeling, then added, "I secretly wish they'll fail."

"Cin," Perry pointed out, "it's not a secret anymore when you say it aloud." You'd swear it was a grave matter from the way he'd said it.

"No, but one can still hope."

"Mm. Too bad you can't turn people to ashes. Handy, that'd be."

There was a soft giggle as Cindy threw Claire's balled-up plastic wrapping in the general vicinity of Perry's head – but it missed its target by a long shot since she wasn't even looking in the first place. "I'd start with you," she nonetheless guffawed.

"Aw, where's the love?" he whined back, shielding his eyes against the sun as he sat up. Then he groaned when he saw where the thing had landed. "I can't reach it."

Cindy pursed her lips. "I'd ash it from here but… I can't."

"Useless power, if you ask me," Perry mumbled loud enough for her to hear him.

She stuck her tongue out at him. "You're just jealous. Besides, how useful are you when you can't even turn your clothes invisible?"

She did have a point, Claire thought, but when it came to their daily bickering, it was better to let them take each other by the throat fair and square. Problem was, while they were at it she couldn't concentrate on her book. Half-listening, she resigned herself to leaning back, watching the other students hanging out in the balmy early summer sun while waiting for the 3:30 bus ride.

Then she saw Warren Peace emerge from the double front doors, his eternal loose hair half hanging in his face as a sort of dark curtain against the world. Throwing a mild cursory glance toward the courtyard teeming with students, he climbed down the steps and walked over to an empty camping table set off to the side with a well-practised loose gait.

"Frankly," she heard Perry mutter darkly, "you never know when he's going to jump you for breathing his air." As Claire turned her head she saw that he was also watching the pyro take a seat by himself.

"That's going a bit far, don't you think?" she heard herself reply before thinking.

For a long moment Perry seemed to consider her like she'd grown a second head, then he shook his head indulgently. "You need new glasses, Frost."

Unconsciously she touched the rim of her glasses, then replied, mimicking his patronising tone, "I'm just being realistic, _Kennan_. Give the poor guy a chance; he's never done anything to you. Or anyone who didn't deserve it," she added.

Cindy considered Peace with piercing eyes then shrugged. "She's got a point, actually."

"Humph," was Perry's final – lame – say in the matter before he and Cindy attacked another subject that Claire tuned out completely as she watched Peace pull out his battered copy of _The Chrysalids_. He must have been reading it a lot for it to end up that way. Then again, he read all the time.

This one _was_ interesting, though, which explained why she was also re-reading it. All about some kids who find out they've got deviant powers that will lead to them being shunned if their society learns about their abilities. When they ultimately do, it gets ugly. Which had often led Claire to wonder about her own society. How exactly were supers treated when they were first found out? What had led to society making them their protectors? And why did supers need double identities in everyday life? The parallels between the plot in the book and the reality of real life fascinated Claire with their similarities and subtle differences.

Some people were just wrongly singled out and rejected. And why? Because of things they had no control over?

As though he could feel himself being observed, Peace looked up, frowning. Claire quickly ducked her head and flipped pages.

#

"How's the book?" Perry asked a half-hour later. Blinking, Claire glanced up and noticed he'd gotten up, along with most of the student population. "Bus time," he announced with a grin, hooking his bag over his shoulder.

Silently, Claire gathered up her bag, book in hand, and followed her friends to the freshman bus where a swarm of people fought for first place in. There were no road bumps in the air, but everyone liked the ride on the actual road itself. Prime real estate? Backseats, of course. Except, yeah, people _really_ fought to get at them. Claire got an elbow in the side a few times until she actually lost her balance when someone stepped on her foot and pushed back. Falling, she yelped and flailed her hands, trying desperately to hook onto something in the nick of time. Which happened. Then she got a look at who exactly she'd groped.

Warren Peace.

"Careful there," he rumbled, righting her.

"S – sorry." She blinked myopically up at him, sliding her glasses safely back onto the bridge of her nose.

"No problem."

"Claire!" Cindy shouted suddenly, extending a hand over a few people in front of Claire. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," she replied as she was being pulled once more into the fray. Then she glanced back at Peace, who elbowed idly, as if it didn't really matter to him where he ended up. People still gulped and let him pass when they saw who it was behind them, though. "Thanks, Peace," she said quietly, thinking stupidly that he wouldn't hear her afterward.

He did. His black eyes bored into hers as he jerked his head subtly in acknowledgment.

She smiled as she finally climbed the steps after Perry and Cindy. What a gentleman.

#

"Would you run away or hide among the normals?"

Cindy's snort spoke volumes. "With strict nuts like them? Are you nuts? Although, with a mental power I guess it's easier to hide as long as you're not found out while communicating in private."

Claire nodded thoughtfully. "With external powers it's harder," she pointed out. "If your control slips, at first…" Trailing off, she let the grim meaning of her words hang in the air.

Cindy agreed with a grunt. "I can't even imagine my mom freaking out about me having superpowers." She'd inherited her power from her superhero dad who helped the forest guards control fires – he was a fire wielder.

"Yeah but see, she's used to it," Perry retorted, cocking his head. "Imagine your dad and you had to hide your deviancy."

She made a face at the image he'd conjured. "What a world," she commented with feeling.

Claire had to agree. Thinking back on her conversation with her mother those months ago, what her mother had said struck her again. _Those senators were trying to crack down on us_. Someone had resisted, but what if the people _had_ roused against supers? What then? Would they all be living in an incarnation of the Fringes like the deviants in the novel they were studying? Claire felt a shiver course through her.

A loud chortle broke into her thoughts, making her cringe in dread. "Is Frosty _cold_?" Then she heard the snickers behind her. Wow, they'd actually been silent until now. Or annoyed someone else, more like.

"Get lost," she muttered under her breath to Speed and Lash, knowing exactly where this was going. Ice queen, cold as ice, frozen heart, blah blah blah. She'd heard it all before. People just assumed things because of her power… and the fact that she kept mostly to herself.

Lash dropped his elbows on top of her seat near her head. "How's it feel anyway – oh wait, _can_ Frosty feel? Lemme just warm you up." And his elastic arms proceeded to snake down to her sides.

Speed promptly sniggered like he always did at whatever Lash ever did or said.

But Lash didn't get much of a feel. "I said, get lost," Claire growled on a cold shot, and Lash yelped, withdrawing his hands and blowing on them without much effect. It would take a while for him to feel anything beyond the bone-deep cold.

Cindy, who Claire could tell had been about to step in, sat quite still, a wide smile slowly stretching her lips. "Now, what were we saying?"

Claire turned back to admire her work over the back of her seat, grinning when she saw Lash still working on his hands. "I was saying… thawing hurts a lot. Or so I hear."

"Cold bitch," she heard one of them mutter under his breath when she sat back down again.

#

The next night, Claire's parents took her out to dinner to celebrate her "conquest of her beginning of superacademia" or some other silly nonsense that nevertheless overwhelmed and elated her. Freshman year was finally over, and she'd survived without too much of a hitch. Okay, so she wasn't always in _complete_ control of her power, but she'd made some progress, and anyway Tandy kept saying they'd get better with time and practice. Also, academia itself hadn't killed her so that should be a good sign that she hadn't failed completely.

They ate at the local Japanese restaurant, Fuji – the kind where they made an art show of cooking your food right before your eyes. The chef was quirky in his silly Asian imitations of Hollywood stars, and the waitress, dressed in her beautiful silk kimono, almost caught on fire once when her sleeve brushed on the oiled stove while refilling her father's glass with sake. Ensued a fun interlude where water flew from her mother's glass onto a woman at the neighbouring table, who _also_ threw the contents of her glass, at the right target this time, when she saw their waitress's burning sleeve.

Ah, good times.

"Mm," Fiona Frost sighed, sagging into her husband's side as they all exited the Japanese grill house. "Nothing like a good chicken teriyaki."

David Frost smiled in satiated satisfaction. "Or sushi," he replied agreeably, twirling the keychain that hung off his finger as they walked toward the street where he'd parked the car.

"Thanks, that was great," Claire added, offering them a contented smile as she walked in front.

Her father suddenly pursed his lips and wagged his index finger at her in mock-severity. "Now you'd better have good grades or else…"

Which earned him a light exasperated nudge from her mother. "David…"

"Oh, by the way," he sobered quick as lightning, "the grocery store called."

"And…?" Claire had only been waiting for that call all week in between exams. Nevermind the unspoken rule that grocery stores were always looking, according to Cindy, who did work in the meat section. _Pfft_, she'd said drily, dismissing her easily with a wave, _they're always short-staffed. Make us work crazy hours to make up for it._

Her father made a face, and right then and there she knew – she hadn't got it. She'd looked too uncomfortable, she'd fidgeted too much, she'd… smelled weird? Who knew, but her whole summer was doomed now. Goodbye, extra money.

"Well," he started carefully. "You didn't get the meatpacking job, but you made cashier."

That made her pull up short, frowning in utter confusion. "I didn't even apply for that!"

Her mother shrugged against her father. "They're short on cashiers," she replied, as if that explained the nonsense of them completely ignoring the section on her application where she'd clearly indicated "meatpacking" as her first choice and "bakery" as second. "It's still a good opportunity, honey."

"Um, sure," Claire mumbled as she whirled to walk forward again, biting her lip. Sure, it was bound to be fun, but still – surprising and completely out of nowhere.

And she almost ran into someone as she ruminated over all of that. "Watch where y–" Then, more astonished, "Snowflake?"

Claire, who'd been about to apologise profusely, whipped her head up… and gaped like a fish out of watery means for a few seconds. "Uh, hi," she stuttered at the shadowed form of Warren Peace dressed in even darker clothes. Upon closer inspection, blinking against the feeble light that the nearest lamppost threw, Claire noticed smaller details: grease stains on his black wifebeater; long hair pulled back away from a softly angular face. With his hair down, Peace gave off such a different aura that the change – subtle, really, but distinct – was an instant throwback.

"Do you know this boy, Claire?" her father spoke up firmly, placing his hand on her shoulder in that unmistakably fatherly _Let me know if he's trouble_ move_._ Claire suddenly remembered her parents' presence right behind her.

"Um, yeah. We go to school together," she replied stiltedly. To Peace she asked, "What are you doing here?"

Pegging her parents with his practised stoic stare, he replied, "Could ask the same of you." Yet after a few beats he glanced away, adding somewhat bashfully, "Just got off work."

"Oh. Sorry. For bumping into you, that is," she added stupidly.

It was already a warm night, but couple it with his body heat that radiated off him naturally, she just felt his presence all the more palpable as he brushed by her. "Don't worry," he muttered. "It's getting to be a habit." And then with a polite nod at her parents, he walked off into the opposite direction and on to the other side of the street.

Claire's mother broke her residual tension when she began, "Was that–"

"Warren Peace," Claire interrupted like an automaton.

"Ah. Thought so."

There was a pregnant pause as they all started walking again. When they'd reached the car, though, it was her father's turn to speak up. "Flame-Thrower's–"

"Yeah," mother and daughter answered in unison.

David Frost started the engine, the motor's drone offering a kind of relief from the moment that had just passed. "He seems gruff but–"

"Mmph," Claire grunted softly from the backseat.

* * *

**Author's note**: Where to start, where to start. Well, in French "zizanie" (zee-zah-nee - soft z's) means "discord". I always found it such a fun word as a kid because it sounds like someone lisping when you say it haha. And yes, French is my mother tongue :)

Also. I read _The Chrysalids_ in high school, and I remember loving it very very much. Unfortunately I haven't read it since grade 7 (where I live high school is from grade 7 to grade 12) so I've had to rely on general memory, but otherwise you shouldn't be lost if you haven't read it. Although I do highly recommend it if you like a good fantasy.

Fuji is a real Japanese grill-restaurant in Montreal. We used to request this silly chef who made Pikachus out of shrimps haha. And the sleeve bit _almost_ happened to a waitress there. She pulled her sleeve away before any flames formed but... what if? ;)

It's _very_ true how grocery store chains are always looking for cashiers. Speaking from experience. No, I'm not advertising.

Yes, I know there isn't much Warren yet. Give it time!

Can't promise such quick updates anymore, though. University just started again and the profs have been piling project after project on us. Never let it be said that Fine Arts is for slackers.


	4. Thoughts May Result in Static

**Author's note**: Hi guys! Long time since I updated, isn't it? Very very sorry. I'm trying to keep afloat of all my fics in progress at the moment, seeing as I'm finally out of school for the summer (well, it ended two weeks ago but I've been otherwise busy fic-wise). I'm definitely not losing interest in this fic even though I do admit it's not my priority right now (hey, being honest here). I still love Warren, and Ice/Freeze Girl as well. This chapter still focuses a lot on her, though I've tried to bring Warren out of the woodwork a tad so that _hopefully_ he makes more than just an appearance in the next chapter. Then we can hopefully move to sophomore year (and I'll have to brush up on _Sky High_ by watching it another couple times!).

Some people have been asking why Will and co. aren't there yet. Quite simply, they're not. Not yet, anyway. This is pre-movie era, at least for the moment. It's quite clear from the movie that Warren is older than Will. Beyond Warren being stockier than Will, there's also the fact that, well, he wasn't in the Power Placement class.

People have also asked about why Gwen is a junior. Slight miscalculation on my part. We just don't have student assistant where I come from, so please forgive me. I'll have to edit that!

By the way, thank you for your reviews and your insight. It was very helpful. And now... enjoy this new chapter (finally, right? ;)

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR: THOUGHTS MAY RESULT IN STATIC**

_Thhk!_

"… and tonight a light rain that will dissipate by tomorrow morning. Back to you, Richard…"

Oh, the _freaking_ irony. The one morning she didn't need to wake up and her alarm clock beat her biological one. Freaking number one.

Claire emerged out of her blankets, slapping the damn thing dead and crashed back down, hair half in her face as she hugged her pillow to her cheek again.

Precious, _precious_ sleep.

Claire drifted back. Ah, no school for the summer…

#

But work. Or rather, learning all the registry codes for fruits and vegetables at the speed of light. _You'll never think of a banana the same way again_, supervisor #2 had said without even a hint of laughter in her eyes. _You'll think of it as a 4011_. Yeah, well, not yet. Right about now, Claire wished she could type in "banana" and be done with it. But no, there were minis and past-ripe ones, too. Not to mention a bajillion types of apples and pears. All around the rush hour. Dinner time be damned.

_I did not sign up for this misery_.

"How's the first day so far?" one of the baggers next to her cash asked when supervisor #2 was finally out of earshot.

"I could do without this sheet," Claire muttered back, motioning to the sheet supervisor #2 had given her with all the codes printed neatly in the tiniest font she'd ever seen so as to be nearly illegible. Kind of _not_ helpful under cross-eyed stress.

"Relax, you're doing just fine," he said before being called off by another cashier. And life rolls on…

Suddenly her cash register locked. Right before her eyes and a huge lineup. "What?" Claire cried out in dismay. Oh, shit. It had been warning about needing to be emptied for the past ten clients.

"Call the supervisor," her neighbour said distractedly, hands moving quickly over the crawling mat to grab items at random.

Oh, right. "Jane!" #2, that is.

The petite, skinny woman rushed to her with tightly pursed lips. Even so, she watched her team of cashiers with a practised eagle eye, not missing a beat. She did not like chaos. Order, only order. "What now? Ah, didn't I tell you to call me when it started going off?" Sighing dramatically, she slid her all-purpose key home and punched her code in, the money drawer opening.

Before Clair could even start counting the money, Jane took her fifties and twenties out. "Take care of your client," was her only explanation before walking off stiffly. S_ince you can't do your job properly_ was probably what she'd left unsaid, but Claire heard it clearly.

_Come on, Frost, it's your first day. Give yourself a break_. Turning to her next client, Claire pasted on a forced bubbly smile. "Good afternoon sir!" Even though inside she felt small, oh so small.

_Welcome to adult life. Ain't always peachy_, she thought grimly.

#

Four weeks later Claire was starting to think of bananas as 4011's. _Uncanny_ how many of the things she saw on her crawling mat. That, and she was starting to recognise the few clients who didn't buy only frozen or junk food. They were _that_ few.

Six o'clock and she had her money drawer in hand, waiting to replace a girl at the counter for twenty items or less.

"Hey Claire," Adrian, a bagger-turned-cashier because of the sheer need for the latter, greeted her from the next counter. They also used to frequent the same summer camp as kids. "Evening shift?"

"Mm," she uttered non-commitally. The store closed at ten o'clock and she was the last one out. "You?"

"Till nine-thirty," he replied before turning to bill his client. That done, he started in on his next client, working efficiently but sparing her a brief glance. "I'll wait for you if you want. I have to eat anyway."

"Umm…" Claire glanced elsewhere because, honestly, she'd never expected him to remember her much less pay attention to her in the first place, and now this?

When she glimpsed the red streaks in his client's hair she just… froze. What the hell was Hothead doing here?

Well. It _was_ a grocery store – anyone wanting food could end up here – but still.

"Claire?" Adrian's voice jolted her out of her mortified stupor.

Warren Peace squinted up from his bill while pocketing his change, and then raised a startled brow. "Snowflake?"

Whoever designed the striped cream-and-prune travesty of a uniform was clearly on crack and needed to be shot. "Hey," she croaked out, and then scurried to her post when the girl there emptied it to busy herself with the money drawer. Great, and now he knew where she worked and could mock her pathetic job all summer long and beyond.

Oh, why did she care and why would he? Surrepticiously she glimpsed Peace gathering his paper bags in his arms – bare and with new flame tattoos coiling around his wrists in vivid reds and yellows. He looked up as he passed her station, nodding before she could duck back to actually look at what rolled her way on the crawling mat.

"Did you know each other?" Adrian asked when the client lines had thinned out a few minutes later.

"Huh? Oh. School," Claire replied distractedly as she busied herself re-aligning the gum packets next to her. "Oh, about tonight," she continued as the thought popped back into her head, "sure."

Glancing up at him she didn't miss his brief grin as he rang up the next order a little more enthusiastically than usual. "Cool."

#

Ten o'clock came and went and, as promised, Adrian had waited for her in the employees' lounge, passing time by polishing a bag of chips.

"I kind of wanted that episode _buried_ forever, you know," Claire groaned through her hands after Adrian had recounted that his first real memory of her was when she'd gotten a concussion skating at the local indoor ice rink. "Not to mention I'm a better skater nowadays," she added on a dry mutter, sticking her hands deep into her pockets as she kicked a pebble on the street.

"Aw, come on," Adrian chuckled, nudging her lightly before turning to walk backward. "You have to admit it was pretty funny the way you totally lost control on the ice."

Claire grimaced. "More like ironic." And then regretted her words instantly.

He made a quizzical noise, eyeing her through the intermittently illuminated darkness as they advanced from lamppost to lamppost. "What do you mean?"

That was one great thing about Sky High – you didn't have to think fast to cover your blunders in front of strangers and acquaintances who didn't know the "real" you. You just didn't, because it didn't matter that you were "different". Everyone was. In that moment, Claire truly missed school for the first time since the summer had begun. "Er. I mean, me and ice rinks are cool these days," she deadpanned quickly.

"Oh, you skate?"

Claire stuck her hands deeper into her pockets, uncomfortable suddenly with where the conversation was heading. "So to speak. Same as anyone I guess." And her hands were icy on her jean-covered thighs. Great. _Not_ time to stick them out.

Adrian grinned boyishly at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I just can't imagine you skating like a pro, Claire."

Biting her lip, Claire shrugged. "Stranger things have happened," she retorted evasively. That was for sure. Like her getting powers. Or a high school floating in the air like an OVNI. Or superheroes living among normals.

"Mm, that's for sure," he replied with a small smile, staring at the clearing skies above as though waiting to see something appear. Stars? They were too close to the city. "You can't avoid it in Maxville. Supers crawling all over the place."

Claire swallowed hard, averting her gaze awkwardly, and cleared her throat with difficulty. "Yeah, well, not much we can do about that, right?" she ventured, glancing over to gauge his reaction. It wasn't like they'd ever talked about the finer points of super-politics in summer camp. Or supers at all. Discretion had been the name of the game for her parents.

He nodded, and then frowned as another thought hit him. "Hey, why'd that guy call you Snowflake earlier anyway?"

For a moment she merely blinked, and then placed the nickname with the only person who'd ever called her that – so far at least. "Peace? Oh, it's just a play on my last name. You know… frost, ice, snow, snowflake? Very witty and all that. He's quite the wordsmith." When he did talk, which was next to never, she thought to herself.

Adrian bobbed his head at her absently, following with, "Interesting." Claire could tell it wasn't at all. He face forward again then stuck his hands in his jean pockets. An awkward sort of tension lined his body.

They walked the rest of the way to Claire's street in silence, the occasional pebble or such the only sounds that reverberated back to them.

"Well," Claire began after a moment, slowing down as they reached her street corner. "This is me."

He stopped a little behind her, offering her a crooked smile. Out of the blue, she decided to take the opportunity to maybe salvage whatever she'd fucked up with her clumsy explanation. "So does it get any easier?"

Adrian furrowed his brow quizzically. "What?"

Claire looked off. "Oh… Jane, all those million codes…"

A snort and smothered chuckle announced that he understood exactly what she meant. "Right, um, that would be… no and yes."

Claire laughed, sticking out her tongue. "How did you know that was the pick-me-up I wanted?"

"Call it a hunch," he retorted with a wink, and then ran a hand over his neck in a flustered moment. "Listen, I'll see you tomorrow."

Claire bit her lip, thinking about work and crazy supervisors. "Yeah…" she uttered quietly, watching him walk the opposite way for a moment. Then, unexplainably, she raised her voice and called out to him. "Hey, Adrian!"

He turned on his heel, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

Claire took a deep breath, taking the plunge. "Thanks for walking with me. And… for what it's worth… you couldn't brake on skates to save your life."

#

"I don't know."

"Cute," Cindy followed, elbowing Perry sharply in the stomach with a pointed glare in his direction.

"Ow." Perry rubbed the sore spot, glaring right back. "What do I care? I'm not gay."

Cindy finished on a dubious snort but paid him no more attention as she turned it all on Claire. "So who's he? Anyone… super special?" she asked, lowering her voice meaningfully as Claire rang up their shopping lists.

"No, just a guy I knew at camp a couple years ago." Then she cringed, hands grabbing items at random on the crawling mat to record them. "Guys, he was just being sweet. Don't think anything about it, okay?"

Cindy laughed, covertly glancing back to the other cashiers to catch sight of a certain male specimen. "Girl, he's into you."

Claire cocked a cynical eyebrow. "And you're the expert on love now? That's a new development."

"CLAIRE FROST," supervisor #2 screeched from where she was posting next week's schedules on the billboard. "Less talk, more work. And you, miss," she pointed at Cindy whose cream-and-prune getup sported fresh blood stains from her shift in the meat section, "you know better than to hang around."

With a shrug Cindy paid Claire in cash, then picked up her plastic bag with a sympathetic look Claire's way. "Be back after your shift," she said in parting before she and Perry marched away among exiting clients.

After all well-practised pursed pout Jane tsk'd away. Briefly Claire considered begging the cosmic powers that be for a change in powers: melting on the spot.

#

"Not to brag, but my boss is a saint in comparison to that witch," Cindy muttered as she and Perry waited outside the employees' lounge. Perry was not supposed to be there though, not that anyone really watched who went up the sacred steps anyway.

Claire groaned loudly, slamming her locker shut and joining them on the stairs. "Thanks," she said with only a small amount of venom and jealousy in her voice. "I really appreciate your sympathy, you heartless hag." Then she sighed, rolling her eyes at the whole situation. "Whatever, it's just for the summer."

Cindy's lips slowly formed a smirk as she considered Claire as though she'd become someone else – someone entirely too bitter to be herself – in a mere few weeks. "Does Lady Bitch know?" It was common knowledge the cashier spots were _supposed_ to be long-ish term.

It was Claire's turn to smirk as she glanced sideways at her amused friends. "I may have said I'd _try_ when she asked at the interview."

"Ha!" Perry whooted for a moment.

"So," Claire began at length when they'd made it outside the supermarket doors, "what are the plans for tonight?"

Perry scoffed self-importantly, as though it should be obvious. "What does every self-respecting teenager do on a summer night with friends?"

Cindy eyed him, deadpan. "Play video games at your house while I beat you to a bloody virtual pulp?"

"Okay, apart from _that_."

#

They actually ended up going to the Paper Lantern restaurant which, according to Perry, was really really good and he and his family used to go all the time before they moved across town.

"Do you, like, know anyone here?" Cindy whispered as they waited for their waitress to come take their order. It had been ten minutes since she had come to hand out the menus.

"Uh, _no_…" he replied in a "who do you take me for" voice as though she were a full foot in the crazy. "Even if I did they wouldn't recog – what the?"

Claire looked up from her menu at the abrupt interruption in her friends' usual bickering. "What?" The weird astonished frowning look in their eyes made her turn around, only to see… Warren Peace balancing several dirty dishes in both hands. The whole thing looked quite unstable and teetering and with a woman shouting Chinese at him he looked even more hard-pressed. The eternal scowl deepened on his face before he disappeared in a back room from which smoke and sweet-and-sour scents wafter – the kitchen, obviously.

"Well, looks like we _do_ know someone," Cindy commented sourly after a moment, glaring at the general area of the kitchen doors in the hopes that someone would come out and notice them.

"A _bus boy_," Perry replied sardonically. "I doubt he can – _hi_." His face reddened deeply when the waitress – a lithe twenty-something Asian girl – appeared right before him. "Are we ready to order? I think we're ready to order. Who wants to order first?"

Cindy merely leveled a wooden smile at the petite Asian woman, a tiny incinerated corner of her paper napkin hidden covertly in her fist.

"Um," Claire, getting the message of "she's dead if we don't get out food _fast_", ordered first, then handed her menu to the woman and sat back, staring wordlessly at the lone candle on their table.

#

After the Won Ton soup she headed to the bathroom, a tiny room with two even tinier stalls that both looked like they'd seen better days… or maybe not. Still, she sucked it up, did her thing, and hoped Peace would have swung by their table already by the time she came out.

Honestly, she didn't get it. Sure, he looked "dark and dangerous" but she'd already long determined he wasn't so threatening as he simply avoided people. He moved like an ever-aware tiger, wounded once and ready to pounce at the slightest provocation. With his past, Claire understood the drive to self-preserve. And he'd never done anything to her in particular. He'd actually been… well, if not a gracious gentleman, then at least helpful. More than once. He was a genuinely good person beneath that hard veneer. She _got_ it. It didn't warrant this constant wariness she felt right down to her bones where he was concerned. Claire wasn't exactly the most graceful person on earth, but she made a real piss-poor idiot of herself whenever he popped in the vicinity.

She didn't _get_ it. Well, she could read the signs, but it made no sense. They barely even talked!

"Like that's really the point, Snowflake," she mumbled to herself as she washed up and then straightened her skirt. Glancing at her watch, Claire decided she'd spent enough time ruminating the latest development in how nuts she was. _No, you're actually a coward_, her mind corrected indulgently, seriously pissing her off.

And that's how she exited the tiny women's room and found herself nearly colliding into a small mobile pile of dirty dishes.

"Careful!"

Claire's arm shot out to grab an airborne teacup before it could make it to its shattering fate. "I am so–" she pursed her lips miserably at the translucent green liquid that had turned into ice at the bottom of the cup. "Sorry."

"You say that a lot, you know," Peace remarked dryly, then added, freeing one of his hands carefully, "Hand that over." Looking around to make sure they weren't being watched, the liquid then hissed inside as a small flame engulfed his palm. He glanced up as he rebalanced the dirty dishes over both hands and arms. "You here with the old married couple?" he asked.

Claire frowned, not understanding at first. She hadn't noticed an old… "Married c – oh." She smirked when she spotted her best friends arguing over… whatever. "Yeah. They're a force to be reckoned with but honestly I'm used to it. Just tune them out every once in a while. Unless the claws come out."

"I thought–"

"Figuratively speaking, I mean."

"Ah." Rapid-fire Chinese burst out of the kitchen next to them. Warren winced. "Listen, I'd better get to work on these…"

Claire nodded, awkwardly inching past him in the small space. "Yeah. I'll see you, uh, later I guess." But on a whim, she whirled back around to deliver a parting shot on a grin. "Boiling water should do the trick on the nastier crusts."

Hothead _could_ smile – it punched into her chest harder than any physical punch ever could and completely lit up his face. "I'll keep that in mind, Snowflake." And then he was gone past the swinging doors amidst Chinese expletives and – well add that to the list of Warren Peace Surprises – his own rumbling Chinese grunts.

"Took you long enough," Cindy growled when Claire slid back into her seat and dug heartily into her cherry sauce chicken.

Claire swallowed a piece of delicious brown meat before answering. "I bumped into someone on the way out. Literally."

"Let me guess." Her friend rolled her eyes knowingly – there was no guessing involved. "Peace. Yeah. We saw."

"He was in a _bad_ mood," Perry added in a wide-eyed, conspiratorial tone. "It's a wonder he didn't incinerate you on the spot. I'll bet he gets fired tonight."

Claire considered him unblinkingly for a moment, then snorted derisively. Perry Kennan was the single biggest gossip boy she'd met in Maxville. "Why do you care anyway? You want his job?"

He scoffed, sitting back to cross his arms defiantly over his chest. There was nothing all that threatening in his build, poor lanky thing. "I'd sooner run around naked _downtown_."

Cindy snorted back her laughter quietly beside him. "I'll bet you've done that plenty of times."

"Jealous?"

"You wish."

Could they never have a civilised conversation? Seriously, it was a wonder they even supposedly got along. "Guys! Eat!" Claire cried in exasperated amusement. _Old married couple_, she heard Warren's words floating in her head again. Indeed. If only he hung around them twenty-four-seven… but he was so spot on.

They ate in tight-lipped silence – for all of five glorious minutes.

#

"Are you avoiding Warren Peace?" Cindy hissed at Claire when they'd made it out of the small restaurant later. They'd paid, Claire had waved awkwardly at Hothead who was making his way over after unloading another table, and at Claire's urging they'd almost run out like bats out of hell.

Claire leveled a withering glare at her friend. "Why would I do that? We don't even–"

"Talk?" Cindy interrupted with a scoff and a pointed smirk. "Uh huh. And what about sweet _Adrian_?"

Rolling her eyes, Claire kicked angrily at a rock in her path, trying to think fast on her feet – and silence would be analysed and likely _mis_interpreted. "I'm not–"

The shout from the entrance of the Paper Lantern behind them stopped her short as she instantly recognised its owner. "Hey! One of you forgot your keys!"

Please don't let them be hers, please don't let them be hers, plese d–

"Shit," Cindy hissed beside her as she rummaged through her purse. A miserable sound it was, too. You'd think she'd just been asked to go on a suicide mission to rescue the world from a gigantic comet the size of six planets. Warily she eyed Claire, then on a whim grabbed her hand.

"Cin!" Claire yelped helplessly after her. "Why're you – uh hi." Smiling in what she hoped wasn't too fake a smile, Claire jerked her hand out of Cindy's glaring briefly her way.

"Hi," Warren replied slowly in a controlled – _confused_, as he should be – tone. "These yours?" Metal clinked as he dangled a small ringset with several dark trinkets. Not exactly her style.

"No, they're hers." She indicated the surly Cindy with her chin. "I'm here to… play middle-man. Thank you." And with that she grasped the jingling keys out of his fingers and jerked slightly as she retreated, rubbing her suddenly warm fingers where he'd touched her briefly. "Well. See you around."

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. She _knew_ his body temperature was warmer than the norm. Knew it was normal that hers should spike in his presence. Simple chemistry. It was part of the reason people preferred to stay away from him – from her, too, though for opposite reasons. It _wasn't_ why her body reacted so strongly, though, and that… that was just completely crazy.

"You're totally into him," Cindy gushed quietly when they'd at last rejoined Perry.

Claire clenched her fists, dropping Cindy's keys into her hand with more force than was necessary. "No," she growled, infusing as much finality into her voice as she could. The word brooked no argument, but her chest sure didn't care and fluttered like a mad thing on crack.

The world was nuts. _Nuts_. And totally plotting against her.


	5. Good Times Gonna Come

**CHAPTER FIVE: GOOD TIMES GONNA COME**

"It's kind of poetic, you know. Tall, dark and hot melts Ice Queen bitch's – sorry – heart. The stuff of Shakespeare," Perry faux-sighed dramatically.

"If Shakespeare had written paranormal young adult romance about superheroes," Cindy retorted, rolling her eyes at the boy as they walked companionably along the streets. Then she added, pointedly, "Which he didn't, so."

"So?"

Cindy huffed and crossed her arms over her chest, obviously on her last leg of patience. "So you're wrong."

Perry merely sneered.

"Okay, guys. Seriously," Claire laughed dryly. "Warren was right; you're like an old married couple."

Sputtering only a half-second… Cindy suddenly pounced as Claire belatedly winced at her slip-up. "Ooh, so it's Warren now, isn't it?"

"Shut up. That means nothing."

"Oh I know, I'm just majorly interested in your skin tone." She squinted in the twilight, an annoying grin planted firmly on her lips. "I might be mistaken, but I think you're blushing."

Claire averted her face, denying her friend(s) the sight of the deepening colour on her face. "It's hot, it's summer, I'm sweating. How's that?"

There was a moment of silence as Perry and Cindy exchanged a glance. And communicated without words for once.

"Really," Claire argued.

"Uh huh," they both replied non-committally, then Perry added, "You're full of shit."

#

"I really want this summer to be over, mom," Claire grumbled in greeting as she made her weary way straight to her bedroom and her inviting bed.

Fiona's cup of tea never made it to her lips. "What happened?" she asked to her retreating daughter's back.

"Stupid nosy friends. And peace!"

"Huh? You're going to have to be specific, honey, because I think I'm missing a page… or three."

The answering slam of the second storey door resounded through the house. And then her daughter's voice rose, a bit frantic. "So am I! And I don't want to go to school either by the way!"

Fiona Frost shared a bemused expression with her husband whose own deer-in-headlights expression seemed quite lost. "Does she make any sense to you?"

He shrugged. "What do I know? She's a woman."

_Smack!_

#

_Why me?_ Claire whined inwardly the next day as she looked down the Third of July line of customers waiting to have their orders rung. Beer, beer, more beer and even _more_ beer had rolled her way all day. At that rate, by the time she turned twenty-one she might develop a strong dislike for the stuff. But even worse now, inching her way like a bad disease was Warren Peace with his sandwiches-and-juice carton in one arm and a Ben and Jerry's held with the tips of his free fingertips as though it were a bomb waiting to detonate. In this heat, coupled with _his_ own body heat, however, _he_ was the proverbial bomb to the ice cream – an ice cream melter, that is. And indeed, when he finally sat the barrel on her crawling mat – grr – Claire saw that he'd managed to make it puddle considerably.

"Hi," he said quietly. Like the good little cashier that she was, she noticed that, adding to the bizarre picture, he wasn't even sweating buckets.

"Hot day?" she asked conversationally, doing her beep-beep thing in two seconds tops. "That'll be seven twenty-nine."

Digging into the pocket of his scuffed jeans, he produced a few bills and coins and settled for a weather small-talk as though it really bothered him. "You have no idea. It's like a cooking oven out there. I heard it'll be even worse tomorrow."

"Good thing you like that," she quipped brightly, busying herself with the cash drawer and handing him his change. She did _not_ feel the heat of his fingers. Really.

"Yeah," he replied, accepting the money exchange with a private smile at the jibe. "Other things don't, unfortunately." Then he dropped his voice even lower than usual. "You mind…?" he asked with a nod to the barrel. "I'm sure my mom would appreciate cold ice cream when I get home."

Claire's blood ran cold – in shock – at the request. "Umm, I'm not sure that's…" Glancing around, she spied for onlookers, saw none, and then steeled herself grimly. "You're such a jerk, to ask me to do that here. I could get fired and… and who knows what." Just what was done to supers discovered in public?

Scowling at him the whole time, Claire took hold of the ice cream, deposited it in the crappy plastic grocery bag and… one second was all she needed. A thick coating of ice covered the entire thing, unseen by bystanders. "Have fun breaking that open," she growled with some measure of sick pleasure at the thought of him trying to hack at the thing.

His pearly whites gleamed in the shitty neon lighting as he lifted the bags with no effort whatsoever. Bi- and triceps bunched, revealed starkly by the sleeveless (torn) tee shirt he was wearing. Flame tattoos flashed brightly as he did. "Don't need to, remember?"

"Ben and Jerry would kill you if you burned their sugar high," she grunted dryly at his retreating back, thinking he wouldn't hear her.

But he retraced his few footsteps and winked. "Oh, don't worry, Snowflake. I'll do it nice and slow."

Claire's breath escaped her momentarily as he left good and proper.

#

"So," David Frost said smoothly in the uncanny quiet that night during dinner. It was weird; usually conversation never dried, but it seemed no one had anything to talk about. And no way was Claire going to mention Warren's run-in into her at work. "Apparently you used your power at the grocery store?"

"W – wh – what?" Claire's fork clattered into her plate as she lifted saucer-wide eyes to her mother's frown. Whoa. Did her father have mind-reading powers she never knew about? "Who told you that?" Granted, someone who knew what to look for could have seen her little show and told him, but still…

Her mother's waving hand dismissed her request as she looked at her pointedly. "The point is, you should _never_ do that at this time unless you're in a _situation_." As in, life or death.

"No one saw," Claire was quick to reassure. _Hopefully_.

Fiona pursed her lips in frank disapproval. "Regardless," she said with _that_ look, a look that people usually associated with the great Mystral, "be careful, honey. You have a lot to learn yet to be flaunting your powers right now. And why would you even risk early exposure in the first place?"

This had Claire fumbling for her fork and the slab of lamb in her plate. "Oh, um, just peace."

"What?" Fiona seemed alarmed suddenly, remembering her daughter's unexplained outburst the previous night. "What does peace have to do with anything?"

"His ice cream was melting."

A look of confusion crossed her mother's face. "His…" And then her face lit. "Oh! Daria's son. What's his name again…"

Claire supplied it tightly, biting into a large piece of undiced meat. "Warren."

"That's right." She broke into a smile. "That boy we saw back in June, wasn't it? What's his power again?"

Claire pursed her lips briefly, considering keeping her lips locked. "Opposite of mine," she relented finally.

Fiona's smile slid a tad. "Right, like Barron." She seemed to shake herself. "Well. Be careful, honey."

Claire cut another piece viciously. "Oh, I intend to be," she finally imparted, stabbing it into her mouth.

#

The Fourth of July brought with it an unusual heat wave, as Peace had predicted. Luckily Claire's family owned a pool and Claire plunked herself in it for the most part of the day. Unfortunately, so did Cindy and Perry, the latter of whom displayed his invisibility quite grandly by jumping starkers to kick things off.

"PERRYYYYY, you disgusting freak!" Cindy, of course. Shrieking her outrage, she was then dunked and released to his guffaws just as quickly. "Ew ew ew get the fuck away from me, creep!"

"But I like feeling all the currents," he whined between snickers.

"Yeah well," Cindy eyed the general direction his voice had come from (and the indentation in the water's surface where his invisible body stood) and licked her lips. Nervous? Cindy? Naw… "It's unsanitary and just… ew."

David Frost's authoritative voice rose from the pack of amused adults on the lawn laughing at Perry's antics. "Kennan, you've sufficiently frightened the young female population. Out and trunks on." Claire thought she heard him add to the men around the barbecue grill that "he could use that power for more interesting activities, huh?" to which Perry's dad hooted rather loudly and clapped his back with a thwack.

Perry splashed out still invisibly, grunting his displeasure, and Cindy swan over to Claire to scathingly bemoan, "What an ass, huh?"

"Mm." Claire rested her elbows over the edge, regarding the growing crowd in her backyard. It seemed like most of the super population of West Maxville had dropped in for the Frost cookout party. She told Cin so.

"Looks like." Then she threw a glance at Claire, leaning back against the wall. "Waiting for someone in particular, _Snowflake?_"

"Don't call me that," she grunted automatically, though why, she didn't know. It wasn't like she'd never been called that before… "Oh shit, who invited _him?_"

_Him_ being Warren Peace… and his mother. As she looked on, Claire's mother went over and greeted the woman warmly, all hugs and smiles.

Of course. Fiona had invited her... and therefore _him_.

"She's never invited them before!" Claire hissed, and then ducked underwater as Peace's brooding gaze lit on the pool. She swore bubbles viciously.

"First time for everything, huh?" Cindy smarm-giggled when she resurfaced.

Claire flicked a thin spray of water at her.

"What'd I miss?" Perry's disembodied voice and trunks asked behind them.

Cindy arched an unimpressed brow. "Apparently, the ability to make yourself visible."

Perry's body popped into instant visibility. "Oops, forgot."

"You also just missed Hothead. I saw him heading inside with some food and a beach bag." Turning a sly eye on Claire, Cindy continued her verbal torture. "I think Miss Here's temperature is about to rise a notch."

"Ooh, can't wait…" Perry smarmed along.

"Oh shut up you two."

"… because honestly my balls are freezing in here right now."

Both girls dunked him laughingly amid his gurgling shouts for help.

"Yeah, whatever," the girls snickered together.

#

"Did you try discussing with the villain before terminating him?"

The low rumbled voice cut into their theatrics, splicing into Claire with silken strength, and making Cindy jump out of her skin. Sputtering, Perry broke surface, clearing chlorinated water from his eyes.

A quick glance back and up found Peace standing near the edge of the pool in his bright red and black swim trunks and holding several bottles in both hands. Perspiration had left a fine sheen of sweat on his broad chest. Not that she was looking. "What?" she asked in confusion. Who and the what was he talking about?

He clinked the bottles in his hands invitingly. "Breezers?" He nodded back. "The adults said it was okay." Small alcohol percentage and all that.

"Um," Cindy stammered, nearly blanching under his amiable, if guarded, stare.

Leaning down, he let her choose among the flavours, pegging Claire next with an inquiring look.

It was Perry who filched the next pick with a mumbled thanks, even as Claire's heart fluttered from the startling attention. _Oh shut up, he's just handing out beverages_, her mind chose to impart with an inward roll of the eyes at what was happening under her skin.

Swimming over the few strokes that separated them, feeling self-conscious in her ordinary bikini under that dark stare, she pulled over. "What are they?" she asked softly, hating that the letters blurred in the absence of her trusty glasses.

Nonplussed, Warren listed the flavours and even her bottle for her when she made her choice. "Thanks," she murmured over the distinct smell of blueberries as she retreated among her friends.

"Yo, Peace!" Perry suddenly shouted on impulse. "A little heat in here?" Claire's face met with her frigid palm before she heard a smooth splash. "Thanks, man. Frost was getting frosty and, like, it's awesome on girls' tits but my little guy was squeaking." All that was _also_ shouted.

Peace's face was priceless with that half-amused, half-I'm-gonna-inch-away-_really_-slowly-now expression.

"You really have no shame," Cindy huffed before swimming away and pulling a howling Claire in tow.

But they did have Perry to thank, after all. The water was a nice temperature for once since Claire had hopped in. Warm currents sluiced around them and Claire found herself slowly relaxing as she and Cin sat and chattered on the steps at the shallow end.

#

"Where did the old married couple go?" Warren's voice preceded his body as he folded his body next to her on the steps later that evening. He'd brought over a plate full of food and spared no time helping himself to a hot dog.

"Dunno, they're not true water lovers," she mused, leaning back as she had before he'd appeared. Scrutinising one hand, she grimaced at a pruned fingertip and shrugged. "I could stay in all day."

"Mm." He lay back against the top step as well. "I heard Kennan threw a nudist show earlier," he said conversationally. It was kind of weird, but Claire realised he'd gradually begun to string more than a few words together since she'd met him. She didn't dare read into that innocuous fact. "You want something?" he asked suddenly, breaking into her thoughts and gesturing to the plate sitting between them on the edge.

Claire nodded, grabbing a nicely browned, all-dressed hamburger and tucking in. "Yeah," she grinned in memory, answering him about Perry. "Be glad you weren't there. He's quite the invisible exhibitionist. Freaked out Cindy."

"You guys throw this every year?"

Nodding, Claire licked her thumb clean when meat juice dribbled down. She leaned over the edge so none would drip into the pool. "Super families, mostly." Apology rang in her tone as she glanced over.

He looked away and bit into his hot dog, taking his time to swallow. Meanwhile, Claire berated herself for bringing up the obviously sore subject of his and his mother's seclusion. She could see him retreat into himself, draw up the remote mask that was so easy to slip back into. "It's okay, honestly," he said finally, but even then he wouldn't look at her. "I understand."

"I… I didn't know my mom knew yours," Claire stammered, remorse thick in her throat. "Well, I mean, she didn't know her very well but… I don't know…"

Warren finished up and – she was afraid he'd up and leave – reached over for one of two Cokes he'd brought over. Surreptitiously, Claire spied the smooth muscles under his burnished gold skin flex as he did. "Apparently we got the invitation last night."

Frowning, Claire suddenly remembered her mother's words. _That boy we saw back in June_. "Right. We were talking about you – and your mother last night. She must have gotten the idea then." Swallowing a bite, she added, lightheartedly because she didn't like the turn of the conversation, "By the way, someone busted me to her yesterday. Thank you, mister, for getting me into trouble in the first place."

He cracked a conspiratorial smile. "You know, that's why I always carry a lighter around. Sleight-of-hand and no one's the wiser if they suspect me."

Claire rolled mirthful eyes. "Invent a portable ice-maker and I'm with ya, trouble-maker."

Chuckling – _chuckling!_ – Peace licked off his fingers. "I swear I don't look for trouble. It looks for me." He scowled at something – some_one_, actually, Claire noticed – at that.

Claire glanced back to see Lash sneering at Warren openly from the far-away food table. "Yeah, I know what you mean," she sighed, remembering one of many Frosty-can't-feel incidents in the bus. "Bah, forget about him. We invite the Longshanks out of courtesy because they're supers and live in the neighbourhood."

Peace looked back at her, hostility clearing from his eyes, and Claire released a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. "My mother loved an unmelted ice cream, by the way… Thanks," he said quietly, and Claire got the feeling he didn't say that often… or to anyone.

"You're both welcome," Claire said, something fluttering in her chest at his words.

Silence reigned over the nearly empty pool, small waves splashing playfully around them. Hot and cold currents touched their hips as Claire wriggled her outstretched toes under a rapidly darkening sky.

"You guys have fireworks?" he asked suddenly, startling her gently.

Claire grinned, tucking her feet back under her. "You bet we do."

A pensive-slash-mischievous expression crossed his face, and Claire grew very fond of it in one second flat. "I could help out," he edged.

Claire barked a guffaw. "Pyromaniac."

Peace grinned along, flicking a flame over his outstretched hand and looking for all the world like a true fire-loving psychopath. "You bet I am." Then he extinguished it just as quickly.

As Claire settled down, she got a sudden idea. "Maybe next year. Watch them from here; they're gorgeous."

He watched her a long time, as though debating her offer, then drank a long swig of Coke and nodded wordlessly.

She nodded happily. "Good." Then she nudged him, the heat thrown by his body licking her deliciously. "You're not as mean as you appear, you know," she whispered, indicating Perry and Cindy flicking glances back toward the pool from the dipping hill of the rolling lawn.

Warren's slow, elegant shrug rolled over his shoulder. "Serves its purpose. People are scared of the hellspawn anyway."

_Don't say that_, she wanted to say, but instead voiced another pondering thought out loud. "Gets lonely, though, no?"

He shrugged again, a little less convincing in his I-could-care-less message. Then he flicked a glanced at her. "Few are called," he said vaguely.

"That's not the saying."

He nodded agreement. "But it fits."

The fireworks began suddenly with a crack and she laughed as they did. "Look!" Claire cried, pointing to the reflection of the falling glitter in the sparkling, shifting surface. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Yeah it is," he answered softly under a resounding boom, but she didn't see him not looking at the feast of colours in the water.


	6. Strangers to Sympathy

**Author's note**: I've had this chapter half-finished for about a month, but school has been pretty much a non-stop thing. It's my last year of university, so understandably the workload is designed to make us run around tearing our hair out ;) I'm not dead yet, though. A few more weeks and another semester...

Right. About this chapter. The title's based on a Goo Goo Dolls song (Sympathy). It's not exactly related to the fic, but I did like the theme of fear, confusion and regret, among other things. At first I was going to use the Rolling Stones song "Sympathy for the Devil", but the narrator in there doesn't care what anyone else thinks so... hmm, not exactly what I'm going for.

* * *

**CHAPTER SIX: STRANGERS TO SYMPATHY**

"Getting kind of cold in the dark, huh?"

In fact, she could barely see his face anymore since the only poolside light only gave off a faint but eerie blue tint to the shadows around his face.

Claire began climbing the steps out, but not before feeling an even warmer current than before swirling around her ankles. She turned back to see Warren grin, and rolled her eyes at the humour he'd obviously been withdrawing all that time. "You know what I mean," she sighed.

"Yeah," he said quietly, then stood, stretched, and reached their towels draped on a chair. He handed her hers wordlessly, then cinched his waist without another word. It seemed the silence had shifted from calm and relaxing, and Claire had no idea how or why or when exactly. When she'd opened her big fat mouth just now? When he'd stood up to overtake her? When their fingers had brushed, creating that always-weird sensation of sudden heat in her fingertips?

Probably her big fat mouth. Sometimes she had the worst timing.

"Look, I didn't mean it that w–"

Warren cut right through her. "Stop apologising, will you?" he said with some impatience and amusement in his voice, but even she could tell it was strained.

"I don't–"

He rubbed his damp face grimly. "I don't always take offense when people talk, you know?" Looking off, he seemed to spot someone or something, and began backing away. "I've got to go. Thanks."

Claire stood there, feeling like the worst sort of fool as she noticed his mother waiting for him to leave. "You're, um, welcome."

With a quick parting wave he climbed down the deck stairs and joined Daria Peace before rounding the corner.

"Night," she waved belatedly, awkwardly, and was then finally able to move. She headed inside to get changed. Ended up hauling it into bed because, what do you know, Breezers didn't like her system – or her head, in this case – much yet. Even in small quantities. Well, she'd obviously have no AA meetings in the near future.

#

"Really cool fireworks at your place last night," Perry commented as he swirled the water in his glass and pitched it neatly to the back of his throat like a true shot drinker. Cindy raised an "are you real" eyebrow at him but kept the comment burning at the tip of her tongue safely tucked away.

Claire frowned at him but also bit her tongue.

"What?"

Both girls replied as one. "Nothing."

With a shrug, the gangly boy veered off on another topic, crossing his arms on the well-worn wood of the tiny Paper Lantern table. "So where exactly are your parents tongith? They kind of… left in a hurry when we got there to pick you up."

Whirlwind was more like it. Claire's mom had basically forgotten all about their dinner date with Daria Peace, and when her dad had come back from work ready to pick her up, she'd… done a mad dash, and left the house a little more disorderly than it had appeared before. Claire was sure her hair was still madly windblown.

Still, answering Perry's innocent question was… tricky. Because he and Cindy would ooh and aah for the umpteenth time over how "Warren Peace!" and "you like him!" and "admit it!" and, honestly? She didn't want to. Admit it, that is. Because, yeah, she liked him, and he seemed not to hate her guts, but really, she knew practically zilch about the guys… except that his family was dysfunctional, for lack of a better word, and that he was a brooding loner who liked to read, and that his touch was the hottest thing she'd ever felt in her life, and that he worked at the Paper Lantern. Except he wasn't here. Now. Must be having dinner with her parents. Which was all good. She wouldn't bump into him and make a fool of herself.

"They're," she cringed, "at the Peaces'."

"As in Hothead's?"

"What are they doing there?"

"What was he even doing at your party last night?" Perry wondered with a piercing look.

Cindy's eyes widened speculatively. "Did you invite him?"

Claire wanted to smack something. Hard. "No!" she said a little bit more forcefully than she intended. Patrons in the quaint Chinese restaurant turned to stare; she waved with a feeble smile, then rushed into her answer as a waitress approached, obviously summoned by the commotion. "My mom invited them, okay. She knew Mrs Peace in high school."

The waitress parked it in front of their table, pen poised in front of thin almond-shaped eyes. "Ready to order?" she asked with a cultured American accent tinged with the barest Chinese inflection.

"Yep." Perry dove in first, smiling outrageously at the girl who was just a _little_ older than him.

#

Halfway through their meal, Claire's lifted spirits sank in one slam dunk.

Someone tall, dark and wet stumbled in through the restaurant's tiny entrance and then bit back a foul curse as he tripped on the slippery tiles in the foyer. Small flames actually rose from the wooden counter he'd grabbed, and then he righted himself and grumbled and growled to their petite waitress on the way to the back where more grumbling happened.

He never saw her – er, them, that is.

#

Mere minutes later, steam buffeted out through the double doors to the back as Warren, now dry save for some dampness in his tied-back hair, emerged holding a tray of cutlery in one hand, a pitcher in the other, and a rag draped over his arm. Moving efficiently around tables, he refilled glasses, talked in low voices to certain clients with a polite smile that half lit his face, and cleaned up dirty tables.

"You hear what I just said?" Cindy elbowed her.

Claire blinked, focusing on her friend. "Mm? Sorry, what?"

"I _said_," Cindy repeated, purring her lips in annoyance at her bout of inattention, "did you hear about that thing with the robot that destroyed the highway in Springfield?"

Claire's mind went on instant 100% working mode. "Yeah, it's really close to Maxville, too. I wonder who's making them. I mean, the Commander and Jetstream are doing fine keeping them out of the city but… isn't it the second attempt in the past month?"

Perry made a vague sound of assent, then swallowed the thick ball of soya'd rice he'd stuffed whole into his mouth. "Yeah, but the thing is," he said, dropping his voice, "they haven't been able to pin the job on anyone yet. Incognito."

"Or someone new?" Claire thought aloud, hunching on the table with her friends.

"Villain-in-training?" Cindy asked, skeptic, pursing her lips in doubt.

Perry frowned at Claire, too. "You mean someone would be teaching them Villain 101?" He shook his head. "The police and superheroes would still be able to recognise the master's hand in it."

Cindy was silent a moment as she picked some chunks of meat between her chopsticks. Then she waved them around as she countered Perry's argument. "Not if the villain's experienced enough to work alone under distant supervision." As her piece of meat flew off, she jabbed her sticks back into it. "If you know your stuff, then you eventually get jobs by yourself."

"True," Claire agreed quietly, brooding over the possibilities.

"Refill?" someone said, suddenly breaking into the lull of conversation. Claire looked up just as Warren Peace's deep brown eyes registered her. "Hey."

"Hi," Claire replied, blinking in surprise, and then pushed her glass toward him. "Please." She watched his broad hands pour, and then suddenly noticed the heavy silence from her friends. Rolled her eyes. God, would they ever lighten up? "My parents make you late?" she conversationally.

Glancing up, he finished pouring and then pushed her glass back to her placemat. Lowering the pitcher idly, he seemed to notice his audience besides her, listening raptly. "No. It's pouring out and I missed my bus. I walked," he replied dully.

Claire winced, ignoring his attempt to discontinue the conversation. "I sympathise," she said, with feeling. When the rain was cold enough, icicles often formed on her hair and skin. She could take it. That wasn't the problem. What _was_, however, was the questioning stares.

For Warren, the problem was probably the exact opposite of hers. The hissing probably freaked out some people, as did the steam clouds.

They were one hell of a Mother Nature-challenged pair, Claire thought as she caught his bemused gaze.

Rapid-fire Chinese erupted from the kitchen door. Shoulders bunching, Warren picked up the tray of dirty dishes behind him one-handed and backed away with an apologetic expression. "Sorry, gotta go."

When he'd left earshot, Perry turned to Claire with a pointed stare, eyebrows and all. "Okay, why are you the _only_ person he ever deigns to talk to?"

It was Cindy who proverbially thumped him over the head and duh'd. "Probably because all you ever do is gape like a dead fish."

Claire smirked. Well played. "Probably," she agreed.

"That'd make some weird hybrid," Cindy sniffed. "Human-fish. Sidekick, obviously," she deduced.

As Perry got over the visual, he crossed his arms over his chest. "Oh, please, as if you're any better."

Cindy scoffed. "See, that's the thing," she pointed out, picking idly at a fingernail, "I didn't bring up the subject."

Claire didn't bother to point out that she'd been pretty vocal about Warren's behaviour with Claire in the past. As to what had prompted the zen outlook, who knew, but Claire wouldn't pick and choose allies. Girls would rally in the end, she supposed, and mentally shrugged. Didn't matter.

Besides, Warren didn't show for the rest of the meal. Claire guessed he'd been relegated to busboy duties the old-fashioned way for being late _and_ skimping on a few minutes of work for talking to young clients. Again, she could sympathise very easily.

#

Several weeks later, Claire had to catch her breath as she burst into the grocery store and beelined for the cash drawer lockers where a surly Dragon Lady waited with crossed chicken arms and tiny bulldog face. Claire blinked up at her. If only she was a cartoonist…

"Slept through your alarm?" the dragon asked almost sweetly, all but breathing fire into Claire's face.

"No, I–"

"Don't wanna hear it, girl." With a sniff, Jane thrust Claire's money drawer into her hands, adding over her shoulder as she left, "And don't let it happen again." _Or else…_

"It's the second time all summer, by two minutes," Claire muttered under breath, zigzagging around carts toward the girl she would be replacing. "And I was across town at my friend's so yeah, the bus got stuck in traffic, what do you know," she added as she got her things ready for business.

Adrian's voice startled her from the booth next to hers. "You talking to yourself?" he said cheerily, ringing up someone's bill.

Claire smiled grimly, all teeth and no humour. "Meet my inner me." Briefly the idea of quitting now instead of next month when school started appealed so much.

Instead she turned to her first customer, plastering a smile on her face and forcing cheer into her voice. "Hello sir, how are you today?"

#

Minutes crawled by, and then hours. Familiar faces went by, and suddenly she was face-to-face with someone she'd only glimpsed from afar at her parents' barbecue. Long black hair twisted neatly into a thick French braid threw in sharp relief the fine but strong bone structure, sun-kissed features, and clear amber gaze.

"Mrs Peace, hi," Claire greeted with a smile, wondering fleetingly if Warren was too busy to pick up the groceries as he usually did.

The woman's frank gaze met hers and she appeared perplexed, trying to recall if they'd met before. "I'm sorry," she said, "you look familiar but…"

Claire smiled as she rung the woman's items. "I'm Claire Frost," she replied, and knew exactly when recognition dawned on her.

"Fiona's daughter," Daria Peace laughed. "Were you at the cookout last night?"

Nodding, Claire felt her cheeks grow suddenly, inexplicably, warmer. "I was in the pool." _With your son_, she didn't say.

And then, _there_. Complete recognition in the woman's eyes eyes, and the air felt even warmer under her close scrutiny. "Yes," she said, nodding slowly, a small smile playing on her lips. "Claire Frost. You're a wonderful girl, you know that?"

Claire sputtered, but the woman walked away, leaving the exact change on the stainless steel of Claire's station. Wonderful? Wow.

#

Her high was short-lived when, a short time later, a commotion nearby caught her attention. Adrian's frantic voice reached Claire's ears amid the din of onlookers. "What the _fuck_? Holy shit, get the fuck away from me. Get _away_ from me!"

Craning her neck, Claire tried to see what–

"_Freak!_"

"I'm sorry, I just… please, I–" another voice whimpered.

And suddenly she knew with a cold certainty exactly what she would find if she pushed her way through the growing throng, and recalled a conversation she'd had with Adrian at the beginning of the summer, when she'd just started working there. _You can't avoid it in Maxville. Supers crawling all over the place_.

Claire elbowed her way through the crowd, fear and fury making her blood run cold. "Let me through."

Then she saw it… the odd, unstable transformation of a hysterical man with shaking hands and unfocused eyes.

"Damn weirdos," someone whispered behind her as she reached out toward the unnatural spider-man.

"Claire," Adrian screamed as she reached out, "don't touch that thing!"

Whirling, Claire reined in her fury with difficulty. "Shut up," she bit out before slipping her arm underneath the man's armpit and leading him, wobbling, to the fresh air outside. There, she sat him down unsteadily, despite his sickly light weight, and crouched before him, peering into dilated pupils. She could barely see their colour. "Hey," she started, patting his sweaty cheek, "are you okay?"

A whimper. "I can't do it."

"You're fine, you're doing all right. Do you remember what you took?" she asked even as she fished out her cell, dialing a number she'd been made to learn by heart as a kid, and told to use only in extreme situations that demanded delicate handling. She thought the situation warranted the call.

"Hi," she said when a woman on the other line answered, "I need an ambulance at Market Grocers in West Maxville. I've got a possible case of drug overdose. My name's Claire Frost. The victim is a superhero–"

"Sidekick," the man sobbed, rocking back and forth in his distress. "I can't do it, I can't do it, _I can't do it anymore!_ Too much, too much laughing, too many insults…"

Claire paused, her body stiffening from growing awareness as the man mumbled some more. Oh God… It all made grim sense. "I – I think he's mentally unstable," she added for the benefit of the operator.

"Stay with him," the woman on the line said. "Keep him talking, keep him steady. I've got an ambulance five minutes away. Everything will be fine."

Her body still locked in full-body rigidity, Claire watched the despairing man's eight eyes and swallowed. "Everything will be fine," she repeated for his benefit, hoping it was true. The woman in her ear encouraged her to talk more and watch his reactions. "Stay with me. What's your name?"

"P – p – patrick," the man said through chattering teeth that soon turned into... giant fangs… then back into human teeth.

"It's all right, Patrick. You're fine," she kept repeating for the next few minutes, always interrupted with, "I can't, I can't."

"You _can_, Patrick. They're coming for you. You _can_. You can't give up."

"I'm s – s – spiderrrr…"

Claire swallowed again against fear that he would collapse on her. He was so white, so pasty. "Yes, it's a great power," she replied as the sirens in the background neared the store. "What can you do?"

"Webssss…" he answered feebly, and suddenly slackened before her.

Claire sprang forth, her heart stopping as denial rang through her. "No!"

She wasn't alone anymore, however. A medic hopped out of the ambulance-like vehicle right as it screeched next to them, and he put a firm hand to her shoulder to push her back. "Miss Frost, we'll take over from here."

Claire fell back, deaf and utterly numb. He couldn't be dead…

"Still breathing," the man said before he and another hauled the limp body up onto a stretcher and from there into the vehicle. It was an affair of a few seconds, but she didn't see it leave, and stayed rooted on the spot until well after they'd left.

Had she hallucinated the whole thing? One look at the bay windows of the grocery store, however, and she knew the answer was a resounding no. What had happened here was very real. And so had what had been said.

Oh, God.

Claire walked back inside the store as though through fog, her every thought centered on the very bleak reality of a sidekick, when Adrian's voice caught her midstep.

"Why'd you help that freak?" he said, moving away from the windows.

Claire wished never to speak to him again. Tightening frigid fists at her sides, she threw back sharply, "Because he's a human being, too."

Her comment probably ensured that Adrian wouldn't speak to her again for the rest of her employment at Market Grocers and that the rest gave her a wide berth, save for Cindy. And her mother would probably flip out when she came home.

Honestly, though?

She was right, and she knew it. That was all that mattered to her at the moment.

Claire gave Adrian her back as she silently returned to her station and resumed her work as though nothing unseemly had happened. Inside, though, she was seething.


	7. Can't Avoid Static Abuse

**CHAPTER SEVEN: CAN'T AVOID STATIC ABUSE**

Claire looked up at the tall nondescript monster before her fronted by a large government plaque proclaiming it the Special Affairs Bureau – commonly referred to in the super community as the Super Affairs Bureau. Then she looked down at the note scrawled in her hurried handwriting and back up again at the modern grey structure. There were windows, reinforced most likely since the attack on it in the late 80s, but the sets of bay windows on the top floors, that she could see, were blacked out – at least on this side of the glass. There was a reason, too: to keep out prying eyes, again since the late 80s attack. Claire didn't know the full extent of what the Bureau did, but she knew her mother was often assigned jobs through them, all supers reported their activities to the Bureau, and it regularly performed checks to ensure the dedication of their supers.

She was stalling. She knew it. She'd been doing it for weeks now, unable to work up the nerve to inquire about that man she'd sent to their special hospital. Was Patrick better now? Simple question; even simpler answer. Yes or no. But... the latter would mean... she'd been useless, then? A superhero, and yet when it came to the Time To Make A Difference, she perhaps made no difference at all. So damn powerless. What good was ice anyway in the face of mental instability and drug overdose? _I'll freeze those toxins and brain cells, yes'm!_ What if the paramedics had come too late?

Claire bit her lip, crushing the Post-It in her fist, and crossed the parking lot that was the four o'clock Downtown Maxville traffic jam. Pushing her way past the heavy revolving door on the other side, she came face-to-face with a long marble front desk manned by ten men and women, some of whom were taking calls.

"May I help you?" a woman seated front and center – probably the main receptionist – asked in a calm, cool, collected voice even as she multi-tasked on her keyboard.

Leaving the dumb sick feeling in her chest out of the picture, Claire approached the sheer marble uncertainly and lowered her voice to a near-whisper. "Yes, er... I'm told I can find " she began.

The woman stopped clacking away and fixed her with piercing grey eyes over thin-rimmed glasses. "May I ask for your ID, miss..." She paused, tilting her head as though listening to something on the wind – though there was none, of course. "Frost."

Claire fished in her purse with trembling fingers – _get a grip_, she berated herself – and handed her super ID card over, with her mother's name and alias providing her lineage, and her ability listed just underneath her name.

The mind reader coolly typed in my numeral identification for good measure, then looked up with a satisfied nod and handed me back my card. "You will want to keep that handy." She gestured to the banks of polished elevator doors on either side of the desk and added, "Ask the receptionist on the sixteenth floor. He will know more about Patrick."

With her heart beating up her throat, Claire made her way to one of the twin banks, pushed the up button, and fidgeted as she waited, nervously playing with a broken nail as she did. Finally, the thing dinged its arrival, as she hopped in, a cold sweat erupting over her skin unbidden. More tense waiting as the elevator noiselessly slid its way up, though this time the wait was shorter.

Another desk appeared as the doors slid open, this one made of laminated wood before a dull white wall with a young man clicking away idly behind it. As Claire approached, he straightened, all senses alert, green gaze regarding her shrewdly. "ID," he grunted.

The exchange was brief, the man soon relaxing again. "Who are you here to see?"

Ah, not a mind reader. "Um, I don't know his last name. Patrick? He turns into a spider."

He closed his eyes – ah, a mind reader after all, but perhaps not as experienced as the lady downstairs – his lids moving restlessly as he frowned in concentration. "Ah," he murmured at length. "Patrick Rathbone. Psych Ward, Room 1816."

"Thank you." Nerves made Claire's voice small and thin. "Do you know if he's doing "

"I'm not at liberty to disclose patient information," he replied smartly, frowning his disapproval. "This _is_ a hospital, miss Frost."

Blushing her mortification, Claire managed to stammer an apology. "Uh, yes, sorry, I wasn't... thinking." She set off, narrowly restraining herself from running away.

Fortunately, the man only raised a brow.

#

Two hallways later, Claire felt her shoulders start to jam in an almost painful way. Her ID was looked at once more – it had been examined more today than ever before in her life – and then she was admitted through the Psych Ward and led to a door that was slightly ajar.

"He doesn't like being interrupted," the nurse that had guided her to him imparted on a sad whisper.

Claire nodded, her gaze drawn to a sleeping figure on the nondescript hospital bed. "I can understand that need."

"How do you know Patrick," she asked, gesturing for Claire to follow her away from the door so that they could talk more freely, "if you don't mind my asking?" Conversation would be easier in the hallway. Practical, since it was nearly empty anyway. A girl ambled the length in a shuffle, muttering to herself about "the eyes that can't see anymore".

Claire struggled to remain on-topic. "I called the special care unit when he had his, um..." She realised she still didn't know exactly what had happened that day.

A small understanding small graced the woman's lips as she walked. "Ah, so you're the girl at the grocery store." She nodded at Claire's astonished face. "He does remember you, albeit in pieces. Soothing voice. Sunny hair. Clear blue eyes."

"I " Claire cleared her throat, feeling a new blush coming on. Sunny hair? Clear blue eyes? "I only... he really needed... he said some things and I..."

The woman's pat somehow soothed her confusion – then she realised it must be her power, because she felt it in fluid waves through her. This woman would be a tank of calmness in intense situations. "I think I know what you mean, dear." She looked up at a movement in her periphery, and they came face-to-face with a tall woman studying a board. "Oh," said the nurse beside Claire, "hello Mrs Peace, I have a visitor here f "

Daria Peace leveled a surprised gaze on Claire. "Claire Frost," she exclaimed. "What brings you here?"

Claire straightened her spine. "Um, I came to see Patrick Rathbone. I, er, I was there last month. When... you know." God, why was she doing this to herself?

Realisation dawned on Warren's mother. "Yes, I remember it happened just a while after I left the store." She smiled. "Well, thank you on his behalf, Claire. I think you saved his life."

Shrugging, Claire stuck her cold hands into her pockets. "I just called," she mumbled lamely.

Daria's warm smile shot straight to her chest. "You made him hang on, dear. I think that's more than a lot of people would be willing to risk accusations for."

Claire dropped her head, remembering all too well the moment she'd understood exactly what was going on with Adrian's customer, and then the moment he had asked her why she'd helped the hysterical spider-man. She shuddered, hugging her arms to her body. "I was so scared," she admitted in a small voice.

A plume of tender warmth spread into Claire's heart as Mrs Peace's sympathetic eyes held hers. She sighed. "That is nothing to be ashamed of. We all are." With a light squeeze to Claire's shoulder, she then began walking forward, urging Claire to amble alongside her. "Looking forward to tomorrow?" she inquired suddenly, changing the subject.

Smiling gratefully, Claire nodded and dove into the excitement at entering a new year, seeing classmates again, and finally ending this restlessness of having nothing to challenge her during the summer. "I mean," she laughed, "not that I crave school, but I do enjoy it."

Mrs Peace glanced at her sideways. "Your mother mentioned you create ice, if I recall?"

Claire nodded, not sure where this new line of questioning was taking her. "I don't control my power perfectly, but I can freeze water and water-based things."

"Humans, too?" Mrs Peace wondered. She grinned at her. "You know the human body is composed of 60% water?"

"Er, yes," Claire responded, eyes wide. "But no, I haven't... tried... freezing a body." Just wrapping Paul's gushing hand in Focus Group and Warren's body in Save the Citizen. That had been fun. The former, that is. The latter had been a split-second decision that she hadn't had time to truly appreciate, though in retrospect it had been quite cool, how he's burst out of

"It could be useful. Oh," she glanced off behind them, "looks like Patrick's up."

Claire startled, then turned to see a figure approaching . A young man ambled towards them, a day or two's growth of beard on his face and with clean, black hair. Gone was the wild-eyed look Claire had beheld at the grocery store, replaced by mild curiosity. He looked... normal. He looked... stable.

Before approaching him, Claire found herself turning to Mrs Peace, found herself wringing her hands. "Can you stay? Please? I mean, if you don't have somewhere to be." Heart pounding – and she still didn't know why – relief poured through her as Mrs Peace nodded with another of her kind, understanding smiles. "Thank you," she sighed.

"It takes time to get on top of insecurities," Mrs Peace reassured Claire as Patrick approached them tentatively. She turned to a perfectly, outwardly healed Patrick who seemed curious about the stranger next to his psychotherapist. "Patrick," Daria began, "I'd like you to meet Claire Frost."

The man's beady black eyes widened as he gasped almost inaudibly. "You. You were there, weren't you? At the... store?" he asked uncertainly, and Claire remembered the nurse telling her his memories were muddled.

At a loss for words, Claire had to force herself to come out of her stupor and nod.

Patrick faltered a little, and his eyes were bashful and tearful when he looked up again. Quickly, he dashed the wetness away, as though embarrassed to be caught crying. This was a proud young man, caught in an unfortunate twist of fate that gave him a minor power. "Thank you," he said with suppressed feeling, then pivoted on his feet and left.

Mrs Peace sighed as she looked after him. "He's having trouble dealing with some things yet. Don't worry, it's not you." Touching Claire's elbow, she began walking again. "Would you care for some tea?"

At the uncomfortable prospect of staying in this place where she felt walled in and like the air was missing, Claire's throat seized up. "No, I – thanks – I'd better get back home to get ready for, you know, tomorrow." _And the award for Coward of the Year goes to... you guessed it. Me._

Daria Peace did not look the least bit offended by the refusal or Claire's obvious reluctance to stay, thank God. In fact, she exuded understanding once more. "Of course," she nodded graciously. "It was nice meeting you properly, Claire."

"You too," Claire replied. She was about to turn and leave when she remembered something – _you're a wonderful girl_, she'd said – that the woman had told her before her run-in with Patrick a month ago. "Did you know I was going to save Patrick? Somehow?" Because she knew the Peacemaker – now an inactive superhero nevertheless working for superheroes – could drastically reconfigure a person's emotions and actions on a moment's notice when needed, though not permanently and not their thoughts either. Claire wondered whether she could have planned for Claire to run into Patrick. Somehow.

Mrs Peace chuckled to herself, then shook her head. "No, dear. I don't predict or arrange future actions, but you " The pager she kept at her hip buzzed suddenly. Glancing at it, her expression veiled. She looked up, grim. "I need to take this." With a wave, she turned and walked into what was presumably her office.

Just when the elevator pinged its arrival for Claire, she heard Mrs Peace's voice. It was... strained, tired. "This is Daria Peace-Battle. My husband just called. Could you please connect me?"

#

Sophomore year began with a migraine and Ed Beacon trying to x-ray his way under Claire's skirt and then tell the entire student body – Claire doubted he'd keep it between himself and his equally perverted friend. End result? Neither would tell anyone for a few hours because they'd be busy melting quite painfully on the front courtyard. Within ten minutes of her first class, Claire was called to Principal Powers's office to "explain her behaviour".

She served detention during lunch break, forced to... well... sleep in the not-padded but very white and empty neutralising chamber since she seemed to be the first troublemaker of the year. Quite an accomplishment. Perhaps she'd broken records for causing trouble before the first bell had even rung. Now there was something the kids would find fascinating about her not-so-fascinating school career (so far).

Afterward she had Hero History and found herself an empty table next to Cindy and Perry's two-seater. "Hey, _agent provocateur_," Perry laughed. "That must be some kind of record; not even a foot in and detention is a certain destination." That phrase had a ring to it, Claire had to admit.

Claire pulled a face. "They deserved it," she retorted crossly, plunking down in her chair. "Pervert – that's Ed – tried to see my nicies. Scott just wanted the first-hand account."

Cindy rolled her eyes and huffed. "Disgusting. We're not cheap commodities."

Grunting her assent, Claire gave a sour look at her melting sculpture outside. _Definitely._ But she _had_ found out she could in fact deep-freeze people. Which was very cool indeed.

Someone plunked down heavily next to her, startling Claire into looking over to verify her neighbour wasn't the Hulk's long-lost son. "Oh hey," she said, seeing Warren instead.

He grunted his wordless "hi" and promptly took his textbook and things out without a word. When she glanced around, Claire realised the class was full and Professor Veteris had just walked in and immediately begun rattling off the material they'd be covering this year in his peculiar drone: Ancient Greece with the Olympics and Ancient Rome with the gladiator games.

"Congratulations," he was saying, "you're sitting next to your research partner for the year."

Chaos broke out.

"Do you mind?" Claire asked Warren just as Perry pointedly kicked her chair. She flipped him off off-handedly.

Warren glanced at her and made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat. _Sure, whatever_, it meant. _Like I care_.

Frowning, Claire leaned into his hunched form and, despite everything that was telling her she probably should back off, touched his arm and quietly asked, "Is something wrong?" The flame tattoo there seemed to burn her, though she knew his entire body was on boil. This meant only one thing: his mood matched his body temperature. When she got angry, as Ed and Scott had witnessed firsthand, Claire's power went temporarily out of control. It was one of many things she still had yet to get a full hang on, if it was at all possible.

His scowl deepened, and he yanked his arm back as he growled, "Leave me the fuck alone." There he continued staring a hole into his textbook.

_Whoa_. Shocked at his sudden, though quiet outburst, Claire gaped back at him a second or two. Then she visualised herself scoffing. Telling him to fuck off himself. _Whatever_, she'd say with a grand sweeping gesture designed to make him sorry. Something. But she only crossed her arms on her chest and groveled alone. Like him.

Thus went the rest of the period, with Warren ignoring her apology when she accidentally bumped her leg into his as she stretched. "Sorry," she grumbled. Nothing. Not even a glance or nod of acknowledgement. Mister _Peace_ – and there was the irony – was giving her the silent treatment for God knew what reason.

No one ever said boys made sense, did they? Claire would have remembered, surely.

He barely even moved at all besides taking the barest of important first-class notes. If he flicked his eyes, she never saw. But oh, in her mind she saw herself... doing what exactly?

_Choking an apology out of him_. Yes.

After class was over, Claire scrambled after him, tired of his silence. She cornered him at last, forcing him to bang into a locker. Forcing him to look at her. Daring him to look past her like she wasn't even there. "_What_ is your problem?"

Still he regarded her with that dead look in his eyes. "I was walking, Snowflake."

Most people would have wilted. That tone was universally feared. But it was really the way he said it, his nickname for her, that only _he_ used, that felt like a sucker punch to her gut. It was cold, unfeeling, without even a fraction of the playful tone that usually accompanied it. There was exasperation and hostility in the word as he said it. She hated it right then and there. No way. No way was her turning it into an insult.

"Wow," she drawled, stepping clear out of his face like she didn't recognise him – she didn't, "sorry I ever asked. Wouldn't want to be caught dead asking what's making you bite my ass when I only ask what's up." She started pulling away, only for Warren's eye to shoot out, holding her back.

He pulled her back into his direct line of sight, and his eye met hers again, only this time it seemed his wall of steel had cracked, letting in some contrition. "It's not you, okay," he said, then winced at the trite age-old phrase. He released her, raking a hand through his hair. "It's not you," he said again, more faintly, before stalking off.

Claire had to side-step some freshmen to get to him. "That's it?" she cried. "God, you sound like..." _you're breaking up with me_. Yeah, right. Far too close to home and besides... ugh, she wanted to flail helplessly right this moment. "Okay. Rewind, stop, play," she said with renewed and somewhat forced amiability. "Is something wrong?" she repeated.

Warren sighed, drawing her to the side of the hallway cramped with milling students. There, he again raked his hair, left loose so that it better curtained his thoughts. Averting his eyes, he watched the crowd moving around them. "I know I was a jerk," he said. Simply.

Claire raised a brow though he couldn't see. _Understatement._ "And you're not answering the question," she countered.

A faint lopsided smile drew the corner of his lips up. "I know." He glanced back at her when she was silent, merely watching him with piercing eyes.

It felt strange to hold his gaze then. A little too... intimate. She checked herself, nearly reaching out to him... to hold his face, tug him to her, _something_. She didn't know. God knew why she always felt she needed to touch him. _Can I help?_ she wanted to ask, but wisely kept silent. "I'm patient, you know," she said instead, and crossed her arms over her chest pointedly.

He chuckled, leaning back against the locker she'd initially bullied him into, and looked at her... warmly. "And I don't like people prying into my brain," he shot back tauntingly.

Claire shot her hands up in the air. The universal sign for _backing off right now_.

His jaw worked a moment as he seemed to consider her, his eyes searching her face almost like a cornered cat. Then he blew out a breath, and she held hers.

The bell rang.

_Fuck._

Warren frowned. "Stronghold," he supplied at last, already slipping away.

Claire drew back. "Huh?" _That answers nothing!_ She mentally screamed her frustration.

#

Claire knew the Commander – Steve Stronghold – had thrown Warren's father into jail when she was just learning to write. Hardly a secret around the super community. Hardly a secret around the Sky High grounds that Warren "Hothead" Peace was constantly a tick away from toasting anyone who dared to taunt him about his father. People in fact liked to egg him on, see how far he'd actually go.

Frankly, Claire thought they had the mental age of a five year-old, testing whether daddy's barbecue was really that hot.

Yeah. She'd tried, before her powers showed up. Mother of ouch. But you couldn't change people's pea brains, could you?

All the same, why was Warren blaming his "fuck off" attitude on old history? One would think he'd have learned to ignore the morons, but no, true to his hard-earned nickname of Hothead – courtesy of Coach Boomer of course who had made the mistake of pointing out that "you could take your dad's super name, huh?" during placement last year – he continued to flame up for all the wrong reasons at the most inopportune times. It was enough to make one wonder whether he craved being the social pariah. Or if he was just as bad as those jerks trying to piss him off.

"Hell_oooo_." Cindy slapped a small pile of papers on Claire's desk. "Calling Claire Frost." She motioned impatiently with her head at Claire's other desk neighbour who was waiting not so patiently.

Colouring, Claire took a syllabus sheet and passed the rest on with a mumbled "here you go" and a pasted smile. Then focused on the front of the class as Mrs Wordsworth, Literature Lover, waxed poetic about their first assignment, due by Thanksgiving.

A folded piece of paper landed on Claire's desk minutes later. Claire snatched it up, glared at Cindy – _already?_ - then unfolded it under her table.

"_Dreaming about me, I hope?_" the note read.

They exchanged "missives", as they called them due to the quality of their penmanship, which Mrs Wordsworth would have wept at with joy for sure, all the time. Still, Claire rolled her eyes. She really couldn't wait to start the habit again, could she. "_You wish_," she wrote, crumpling the thing into a ball and aiming at her friend's open backpack, which stood open and very messy for all the world to see. Ha, let her search through _that_.

"_You wound me_," came back at her two minutes of very intensive rustling later. "_After all we've endured together... I though you _loved_ me._"

Swallowing a snort, Claire pulled a face at Cindy, then wrote back, complete with romantic flourishes, "_Cry me a river, dear, for I cannot stand my own treachery. Cry me a river, dear, for I cannot be without you near me_."

You could feel the resentment in Cindy's script. "_Liar. You betray me behind those pretty words, I know it_."

"_*gasp!* Now _you_ wound me, dearest_."

"_I enjoy doing so, I must admit. Mayhap like a certain fyre-wielding chap we know?_"

Claire groaned out loud, attracting Wordsworth's suspicious attention. Pretending to be deeply engrossed in preliminary discussions about Homeric literature and the Greek gods and goddesses, Claire bent over her desk to reply to Cindy's missive. Finished, she swept it over to her friend's desk as Wordsworth belaboured on the complex deity lineages on the blackboard.

"_This chap you write of_," Claire began, "_is nary a blink in my conscious, rest assured_."

Claire heard a smothered bark of laughter next to her.

Glaring at Wordsworth's chalk notes on the board, she jotted them down quickly before Cindy's reply landed unceremoniously on her lap. "_You lack of honesty is not to be commended, friend, if that you truly are_." In other words, Cindy had landed Claire in the middle of a conundrum, one of Wordsworth's favourite words.

A new folded sheet – because the first was riddled with writing – landed where the first had, lacking in stylish period charm for a change. "_Seriously, C, are you okay?_"

Sighing, Claire hesitated over the lined sheet, pen making a prominent black dot in the middle. Making up her mind, though, Claire wondered what was the harm. Everyone knew Warren's story, and if not they'd quickly learned it on their first day last year. "_It's about his dad,_" she wrote carefully, then stilled.

Of course! When she'd visited the Special Affairs hospital section, Mrs Peace had concluded their meeting with a phone call to her jailed husband. Maybe Warren's mood was related!

Claire pulled the sheet back to her. "_Maybe someone said something about his dad to him..._" She passed the note.

It quickly came back in an unusually untidy scrawl. "_Ya think?! Everyone's been talking about it!_"

When Claire pivoted in her seat to shoot a quizzical look at her friend, Cindy impatiently grabbed at the note she'd just scrawled, and added to it. The sharp rustle made Claire wince. The paper soon came back to Claire. "_The Commander's son is a freshman. You should have seen Peace's face when the worm sat near him in the caf – while _you_ were in detention for that awesome ice sculpture (awesome I say!)_"

"Thank you," Wordsworth intoned. "Class dismissed." And the bell rang on cue.

Claire sat still about a second longer than was deemed healthy by any self-respecting student body, blinking rapidly at her best friend. "Oh dear," she finally said, affecting a deep Old World accent that would have made Jane Austen proud. She slowly stood. "That bodes ill for us all."

Cindy nodded gravely as she shouldered her bag, but grinned nonetheless. "Indeed. I declare 'twas darkly fascinating, though."

Strange looks followed them out.

But Claire didn't care.

_Now_ Warren made sense.


	8. Careful the Burn

CHAPTER EIGHT: CAREFUL THE BURN

"Lunch outside?" Perry asked both girls as he joined them in the cafeteria lineup - cut through it shamelessly, more like, as the thing had grown the figurative equivalent of a gigantic head and tail since the two of them had secured their spot. The freshmen behind them tsk'ed and scowled but didn't start World War Three just to get closer to their pizzas and spaghettis. They weren't even worth the fight anyway.

A weird lull suddenly befell the entire cafeteria as something clattered ominously - food squish-tudding - and some_one_ apparently fell.

Claire looked farther inside the cafeteria, looking for the source of - oh, Christ on a burnt toast.

Vivid red-white-and-blue. Scrawny kid - was that really the Commander's kis? She'd met him before at Super parties and the like but surely... shouldn't he be more... Commander-ish? He'd fallen face first on the caf floor with a bright red plastic platter still in his hands, smack dab next to Warren's table. Not good, really not good. It didn't take a genius to figure out what Warren's reaction would be (no matter how much Claire _really_ wanted to smack some sense into him, for God's sake).

_I'd better go get a teacher. Just in case something starts. _Before_ someone gets hurt_, was her first thought as she nevertheless stood stock-still, unable to move because, oh, could someone really turn away from a trainwreck? Oh, my, God. And Warren _wouldn't_ be the one getting hurt.

This was her something-like-a-friend Warren she was looking at, getting up with all the sleek feral grace she'd learned to associate with his white-hot anger. His dangerous, get the hell out of his way anger.

_I need to do something_.

"Oh my God," Cindy's awed whisper reached her amid the collective gasps and held breaths. "He's really gonna fry him this time."

Claire watched the scene unfold in front of her in horrified fascination as Warren blazed before the very eyes of several hundred people assembled in the room. It was beautiful, in a way. Entrancing. Yet even so, even as she watched him tower over that poor terrified kid with her body thrumming with anticipation, her next sane thought was that he was insane.

A crowd had begun to form around the twosome, and Claire had no choice but to reluctantly, shamefully, follow in order to see with her very own eyes just how far Warren was willing to go for... for this... for something she understood, really, and yet not at all.

_I should do something_, she told herself for the umpteenth time. But her feet wouldn't listen.

"Oh my God," Cindy repeated, standing beside her, just as gobsmacked and helpless. The next second they both shrieked, for Warren had begun attacking in earnest, bent on destroying the awkward Stronghold who, she heard in the jeers and whispers around her, appeared to be completely powerless if the gossip was true.

"Oh my God," Perry said from her other side, and then yelped and added uselessly, "_duck!_"

A wild fireball very nearly gave her a buzzcut but didn't miss the soup stand as it burst into high flames. Nearby sightseers scattered in fright.

... just as the kid hid beneath the slim protection of a caf table.

"Well that's not very bright," Perry commented mildly as if he were analysing an attack plan as they watched the all-American kid decamp to the farthest end, Warren hot - haha, not - on his tail above and throwing fireball after fireball like so much ammunition. Which it was.

"Where's your sidekick, _sidekick_," he snarled nastily from above, standing like someone who knew he'd just bullied someone else to the end of their rope, sure and proud.

_Please don't be an idiot_, Claire prayed fervently.

"Here," four other freshmen stepped up defiantly, though Clair cringed inwardly at the though of what Warren could easily do them, too.

Only... "Holy _shit_," Cindy gasped, mirroring Claire's sentiment. All-American had daddy's _brawn_ after all! Effortlessly he lifted the table and Warren on top, seeming totally surprised with this new development - was this his first time, then? And... the kid threw Warren back just as effortlessly. Claire winced when she heard the loud crack and thud as he hit the wall and then the floor.

"Uh, is that normal?" Perry asked, eyeing Warren who got up the next instant as if he was looking at a resurrection. "Him getting up, I mean. That must have _hurt_."

Cindy glanced at his blandly. "That was just a thud," she informed him loftily, returning to the show as if Perry was a nuisance.

Perry would not be deterred. "A _painful_ thud," he mumbled, rubbing his arm as though feeling the pain Warren should feel. But there were soon more thuds, or actually crashed in fact. Like, through walls. "Ow!" Claire's friend cried out, then, awed as Warren climbed out of the hole as if his back hadn't just been used as a redecoration tool, added, "How the heck..."

Things after that happened too quickly to follow, but she heard one of the sidekicks call to the kid - "_Will!_" - and Warren was running all ablaze, arms and eyes and all, and suddenly white foam exploded out of the fire extinguisher that had just appeared in Stronghold's hands, and into Warren's face.

The second lull of the lunch period fell on all as Claire finally noticed Principal Powers's arrival.

Yep, Claire knew where they were going next.

#

She caught up to him after school on the way to their bus, grasping the tanned leather strap of his shoulder bag to stop and turn him to face her. "D'you care to explain what happened at lunch?" she

His eyes rolled before he could stop them. "Since when am I accountable to you?" he replied, annoyed, shoving away roughly.

Claire struggled to keep up with his long strides. "Since you gave me Stronghold's name and then left without explaining anything. Next thing I know you're trying to off the kidd. What the hell did he do to you?"

This time he rolled his eyes on purpose, exaggerating the motion and sneering as well. "Sorry, _Principal Frost_, it won't happen again, I promise."

Claire frowned, biding her time as he gestured for her to climb first on the bus with a sarcastic gentlemanly bow, then followed her in. When he sat, a few rows past the front, she doubled back and sat heavily next to him, effectively crowding him in. "Listen," she said quietly, "I happen to think you're not an asshole, but I just might have to revisit that theory and find _I'm_ an idiot for thinking that." At his belligerent smirk, she exploded a little more loudly, "Ugh! You're such an ass!"

Warren sat back. "Quick turnaround," he remarked dryly, just as caustically.

"Fuck you, Warren Peace."

Snorting, he turned to her, looking at her like she'd lost her marbles. "What the hell did _I_ do to _you_, Snowflake?"

"_Don't_ call me that," Claire growled through her teeth, arms crossed over her chest so that she looked, ugh, like a sulking kid.

"Claire." He eyed her warily, as though afraid she'd explode again. "What's with you? And don't get all high and mighty because I happen to know you served detention as soon as you set foot in this morning and for a similar offense."

"That perv was undressing me!" she shouted petulantly, realising only belatedly that the whole bus had suddenly become unnaturally quiet. Mortified, she added meekly, "Um, with his eyes. X-ray vision." She coughed.

A smile seemed to tug at Warren's lip as she sank lower in her seat, humiliated beyond belief. Even so, she glimpsed something... different in his eyes. Warmer, she thought. But he quickly looked away, scowling out the window as the bus lifted off their floating school grounds. "Yeah, well, that kid's dad," he said quietly, "stole my childhood."

#

She could tell he hadn't meant to say so much - he tensed, letting her know his mouth had run away with him. Claire's breath seemed to lodge in her throat as she watched his profile harden, those full lips contract, his fist tighten on the strap of his bag.

"Warren, I..." She started to reach out, to hesitate over his fist, but she found she couldn't do it.

His jaw clenched, once, twice, but he didn't seem to notice her. "Whatever. So, yeah, excuse my bad behaviour and for wanting to bash his face in."

Claire's brows drew in together tightly. "Yes, and the next three years sound like a party," she shot back tartly. Other people ignored their nemeses, but him... "I can hardly wait!"

Her sarcasm earned her a black glare as he turned his face toward her again. "Why exactly does it matter to you, Frost?"

Good question. What _could_ she hope to accomplish, really? The Neanderthal didn't seem inclined to listen to reason. At all. She looked back at him curiously, tilting her head to the side to study him - and come to the conclusion that he really was that pigheaded. "You know, I'm not sure why I came here. But it looks like I'm stuck with you for the next ten minutes, so you shut up and I'll shut up and this can be easier for both of us."

Claire crossed her arms over her chest again, staring ahead broodingly, aware that Warren was still staring at her like she'd sprouted a second head and matching antennae. She was also aware that her face was burning up... with shame and something she couldn't explain but which made her chest feel a little bit colder than usual.

She remained steadfast, staring ahead at the approaching ground, letting the less than smooth landing crash through her body, gritting her teeth like everyone else. She heard Warren's grunt; swallowed hers; suffered through their bus driver's far too offensive driving; remained silent and rigid through it all.

Finally her stop came. Without a backward glance at her seat partner, she stood and swung her backpack over her shoulders. She got off, looked back as the bus started forward again, and saw him staring frankly at her, his eyes boring into hers with an intensity she still wasn't used to before he abruptly averted his gaze. The bus rumbled away.

Claire's feet felt leaden even as she began the short walk to her house. His words echoed into her mind as they had throughout the ride, messing with her head. _Why exactly does it matter to you, Frost?_

The thing was, she'd thought about it for exactly ten minutes, and the answer-question she'd come up with horrified her. _Did I really think I could change him?_

Claire pondered that another few steps, hesitating at every one of them, then paused, frowning. _I didn't. So why did I try?_

Her mother, waving a hose over her wilting wild roses - the summer had been harsh - cried out when she noticed Claire standing like an idiot on the doorstep. "Claire! Did you forget your keys, honey?"

Wrenching herself from her mental puzzle, Claire waved back. "No. Um, I thought I felt something in my shoe."

#

Claire was panting haltingly the next day in Focus Group as she plopped next to Warren. "Truce," she managed to say before refreshing herself with her palms over her red face.

Her morning had gone as wrong as it could have: she'd slept through snooze after snooze; her toast had burnt to a crisp; the shower drain had blocked; she'd very nearly missed the bus ("very nearly" being the operative words, and thank gosh for small wonders); and she'd had a very nasty ordeal in the bathroom after her first class when she discovered a telltale stain on her crotch, nothing to weather the damn deluge to come, and having to rinse the blood off and dry it with minimum exposure to onlookers, even if they were girls and girls did sympathise because they all feared the bloody pants nightmare.

Yep, she'd totally forgotten the red days were _more_ than due, explaining why she'd also had to zip to Nurse Spex's office to beg for painkillers.

Claire Frost: where's her head?

Between six o'clock and ten-thirty she'd finally managed to unearth her head and had headed for her second class at a fast clip. And so here she was, irascibility dimmed considerably now that the Advils were kicking in, and her brain screwed on tight - hopefully.

That's right. She'd worried about her last conversation - if such it could be called, because she'd pretty much talked _at_ him - all night, which accounted for the snooze button fest earlier. Lost sleep over her stupid running mouth.

Warren had been lounging cross-legged against the wall with his eyes closed and his head slightly bowed before her rushed arrival and hellos to familiar faces from last year, but now he sighed, opened an eye, and glanced at her. "What?" he asked, the single word loaded with exasperation.

"Truce," Claire repeated, settling more comfortably and removing her backpak. "I didn't mean to sound so..."

"Stuck up?" Warren offered helpfully.

She winced. "Something like that. I mean, I'm not your mother and you're right, you're not accountable to me. So, truce?" she asked hopefully, thrusting out a hand somewhat awkwardly for him to shake.

Since when did they shake hands?

For an interminable moment, he seemed to debate and hesitate over her proffered hand, but finally he took it, the heat a welcome buffer for her glacial nervosity. He didn't immediately let go, though, a thoughtful frown marring his brow. Then he did let go. "I suppose you think I'm being childish," he said quietly before Tandy - no one had every called her Professor because she just didn't ooze that sort of stale bookishness - rushed in, excusing herself over her tardiness.

"Sorry, ran into Powers," she explained briskly. "Now, let's go over the roster and you'll introduce yourselves - yes, everyone" - she shot a sulking sophomore a warning look - "then I'll pair the noobs" - she winked teasingly - "with the old farts" - this time she pulled out her tongue - "for today at least. Next time we'll figure out more power-compatible pairings if possible. Though, remember, you will be randomly paired from time to time. This arrangement will be so that you can develop your powers with someone who can actually _help_ you - that'll be the old farts."

Low conversations resumed as Tandy called names aloud. Claire turned to Warren, half listening to a small mousy girl introduce herself. "In a way..." she edged awkwardly, "I understand the motivation, I guess, but..."

"But your dad's still with you," Warren finished, subdued.

Claire worried her lip, unable the counter the ineffable logic. It was true, dammit. She'd never know what it was like to grow up in his father's scandal, with the open animosity aimed an innocent child who hadn't been old enough to understand and who'd had to grow a thick skin in order to navigate through the nightmare. He could have broken down, he could have rebelled and lashed out viciously in the name of vengeance, he could be in jail for all she knew, but he hadn't, and he wasn't, and she admired him for his strength. Claire wasn't sure she would have been able to stay afloat, but then again, circumstances built character and she'd been reared differently. Who knew who she would have turned out to be in his situation. Who knew...

But the fact was, he was right. She _didn't_ know.

"Right," she answered quietly. She watched a sophomore coolly droning his introduction and showing his seismic power - at a fraction of its potential, of course. "We're still okay, though," she stressed suddenly, gazing back up at Warren's bored expression and nudging him, "right?"

He nodded distractedly, his mind decidedly elsewhere, just as her name was called aloud. Whatever else might have been said was put on the back burner for the time being.

#

Claire was paired up with the mousy girl for the duration of class, but she figured Gayle Brody was one of the very few she would be "compatible" with, power-wise. Force fields, electrical discharges, radiation, etc., that is, powers that seemed all the trend with this year's Substantial Creation freshmen, were better matched with... other people. Ben Seether, snake afficionado, would be excellent with Alex Tracy, power supply in a boy, she thought. Claire privately delighted in the fantasy that Tracy would zap the damn leg-less reptiles to a crisp.

No, Gayle Brody, the girl of air currents but hair securely tied back in a tight ponytail, was better matched with her.

"So, um. How do we do this?" the girl's small voice tore Claire out of her gleeful rêverie.

Claire started, turning to the kid and wondering where they could start. Her mother had a power not unlike Gayle's but, honestly, what more could the two of them do than create The Day After Tomorrow without all the CGI work? They were power-compatible all right, yes, but how many Ice Ages would they have to create before it got old?

Suddenly Claire felt sort of sorry for Paul, her former Focus Group partner who'd now advanced to the junior-senior Focus Group. She cringed, remembering all the "yay, I can freeze you!" moments she'd made him endure. _Argh, tough it, Frost_, she thought to herself, sighing. If Paul could do it, so could she.

"My mother has a similar power-"

The girl erupted in a fit of excitement, sparkles in her eyes. "Mystral, right? You're _so_ lucky. She's my idol, you know." Complete with silly grin.

"Cool." What else could you reply to a fan of your mother's, exactly? "Um, can you push heavy objects or just small ones?"

Gayle's sparkle seemed to dull. She stuck her hands in her oversized hoodie pockets. "No more than twenty pounds. I've tried," she insisted, "really."

That made Claire pause and wonder if the girl had been placed in the Hero or Sidekick division - certainly Boomer would have place her in Sidekick if she couldn't lift the stupid trashy car, but maybe he'd kept in mind that her power was still in development, just maybe he'd placed her in Hero. Claire wasn't about to ask - Focus Group was "meant" as a bullshit-free class, although some liked to overlook that and pick on the weaker ones. Take Angela Michelo with her sand statues or Harry Oh with his breathable air. One could rival any artist and the other could go off into space and supply a crew in distress. Both powers were cool, but branded them as losers because they weren't useful in the real world. And heck, anyone in the Mental Discipline group was exceptional but, for many, photographic memory , for instance, was nothing to strength or speed or whatever. The system was completely biased, Claire thought angrily. And it extended well beyond school. Sidekicks, after all, didn't make the front page of the _Times_.

And, Claire thought, suddenly reminded of a conversation she'd had last year with her mother as she glimpsed Warren coughing from the carbon dioxide expulsions of the freshman he'd been paired up with today, the government had once enterprised to take out all "freaks of nature" for the good of the people. Biased, every single senator in those days. Biased, they could still very well be today. Supers couldn't afford to be identified.

Pulling herself out of her distraction, Claire focused on her charge once more, but the girl was staring at Warren with her mouth agape in amazement. It wasn't like he was powered up, Claire thought briefly, frowning. Then she understood. It was _wary_ amazement. Of course Gayle had seen Warren's display during lunch period yesterday - _everyone_ had. "Ahem," she coughed, "you're staring."

Gayle, caught red-handed, jumped about a foot in the air and whirled back to face Claire sheepishly, glacing up with deer-in-headlights eyes. "Sorry."

For a second Claire considered scaring the chit even more, then thought better of it. No point - Well. It could be fun being _bad_...

Perfectly seriously, she frowned and bent to whisper in Gayle's ear, glancing up to catch Warren's eye behind the girl's back as he wiped his face. "You'd be even sorrier if he caught you looking," she warned. "_Never_ let him catch you." With the eye Gayle couldn't see, Claire threw a wink his way. "He's bad news." She considered adding that she'd heard he ate bats for breakfast, but thought that was maybe overkill.

Still, Warren snorted, shaking his head at her before turning away to ready himself for another smoke attack. That smirk of his said _Thank you so much, Snowflake_. The kind of Snowflake she liked.

"Let's get back to work," she told her her little protégée, a lightness in her chest. "Shall we?"

#

"Smoked you out, did she?" Claire asked cheekily when she joined Warren at his locker after class. They had fifteen minutes until Save the Citizen; she intended to use five to do fuck-all and calm her nerves. She _would_ do better than a C this year. She _would_ participate, by God.

"Alicia Plume?" He slammed his locked wryly and marched away, gym clothes in hand. "Once she started, she couldn't stop. Nerves, you know? I'm the big bad pyro who kicked ass yesterday," he grumbled. "What else-" he began again, then interrupted himself, hacking out. Claire thought he was dangerously close to expulsing his own throat. When he'd properly regained a wheezing breath, he continued, "What else could I expect, really? Not to mention..." he coughed again "that story you told that girl is going to make rounds. Thank you very much."

Claire frowned, ignoring the harmless remonstration. "What I'm wondering is why the smoke affects you at all. Your produce smoke with your fires..."

Warren shrugged, helpless to answer her. Claire could tell it bothered him, too.

"Maybe there's another substance in her gas," Clair mumbled thoughtfully. "Something toxic?"

"Carbon dioxide's toxic," he pointed out blandly.

"Mm. I mean something you're not immune to," she countered easily.

Shuffling his feet as they approached the lively gym, Warren offered another theory. "Maybe I'm just immune to my own smoke."

She had to concede to that point - it was a very likely possibility. "You'll have to make some tests in the lab," she said, smiling at the mental image of him sniffing all manner of gaseous substances in Medulla's cupboards. "Careful. Medulla might have some weed in there somewhere..."

Barking out in laughter at the sheer absurd imagery of _Medulla_ smoking a _joint_, Warren leaned back against nearby lockers as some guys exited the boys' changing room to head to the gym. "Somehow I doubt that," he countered when they were out of earshot again, a twinkle and a smile in his eyes. "Can't see it." He grinned. "I mean, it's Medulla. Grass, maybe, but pot, no."

Shrugging coquettishly, feeling giddy as hell, Claire headed towards the girls' changing room with a grand flourish and a sing-song parting. "You never know!"

#

It turned out that Warren's lighter mood didn't last long - how could it, really, when an entire school's worth of students stared expectantly at you? The semester had barely just begun and already he'd made spoken gossip headlines throughout the entire student body. Claire shook her head at the blatant display of you-scary-pariah-us-everyone-else. Well. She didn't include herself in the latter category, but still.

Perry wanted front-row seats so they (i.e. Perry) made their forceful way through the throngs with the same idea. Perry was pretty good at slithering (he and Seether would make great friends, she decided grimly), and Cindy had got it into her head that she too wanted the best seats in the house, so she applied herself to poking smouldering holes into people's gym clothes and generally making them start and yowl in pain - and get out of the way, which was the idea of the hour. Finally, the two of them hogged three seats as Claire made her less forceful way toward them, waving apologetically to Warren who must have wondered if he had the plague and didn't know it, because there was barely anyone sitting less than three feet away from him.

"Freeze, isn't it?" a sweetly authoritative voice cut into the wonder of actually, for once, having an unimpeded view of the gym floor.

Claire's gaze swung sideways to the tall brunette - Gwen, the student body president. "Frost," she corrected, wondering even as she did so why the queen bee was paying attention to her. They just didn't hang in the same circles; Claire was perfectly happy with two best friends and a smattering of friendly acquaintances. Oh, and she didn't look at people like Gwen was doing with her right now... like she was considering her value to her. What was going on here? Still... "Hi," she added uncertainly, returning to search the bleachers for heads she recognised.

"You froze Burny and Foreman yesterday, didn't you?"

Seriously, the girl - and now all of her minions - was looking at her with such interest it felt like she was on display at a butcher shop. Ugh, bad analogy. It really creeped her out, how intensely they didn't even twitch an eye. "Uh, yeah," she answered in a tiny voice that felt inhuman.

Gwen's face cleared. So did her minions'. That was freaky. "That was brilliant," she pronounced with a wide smile that did nothing to erase the image imprinted in Claire's mind.

And so the three of them - Claire, Cindy and Perry - were allowed to stay, quite as simple as that. Just in time, too, because "class" was starting.

Boomer entered, paused - the sound in the gym dulled as expected to an acceptable din - and proceeded to climb up the referee chair as though presiding over an officious trial.

Well, Claire thought ominously a half second later, that's pretty much what it was.

Still, she dragged in a bated breath like the rest of them as he appeared to mull over the toughest equation ever: who to start the ball rolling with this year?

_Not me, not me, not me..._

Christ, and here she'd been deciding that this year would be different.


End file.
